


Painful Memoirs

by morierblackleaf



Series: Induration [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Anguish, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 65
Words: 256,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morierblackleaf/pseuds/morierblackleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 4 of my "Induration" series, occurring years after "Warm Comfort."</p><p>Aragorn discovers that Legolas is hiding a painful secret, but before he can convince Legolas to tell him, Estel gets to see for himself what ails the Prince. This story is about the aftermath of a violent attack and the beginning of a doomed romance. Please pay attention to the tags. This story is rife with abuse mental, physical, and sexual, and includes self-harm and extreme psychological disturbance. </p><p>I own none of these characters and make no money from writing about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [沉痛回憶（Painful Memoirs中文版）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036421) by [morierblackleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morierblackleaf/pseuds/morierblackleaf), [Morrey_Liu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrey_Liu/pseuds/Morrey_Liu)



A long scar was the only mar on the beautiful Elf’s lithe form. It ran down the length of his smooth thigh and then followed the natural curve of his muscle from the front of his hip to end in a twisted curl above his knee. He was careful to avoid touching the hardened, scarred tissue as he cupped cold water in his hands to bathe the aftermath of battle from his body. The wintry ground had been stained with gore – he and the Ranger had slaughtered a dozen of the foul Orcs, freeing the beasts’ black blood to dampen the dell where the Dark creatures had been hiding from the sun. Legolas hadn’t been sullied by the intense mêlée; the water soothed him, though, making him feel cleaned of the death and hate that battle brought. And so, the laegel lingered there, for he was pleased by the way that the cool fluid refreshed him.

He felt before he heard his longtime friend’s approach to the small pool where he took his repose. Hastily, the Prince threw water on the remainder of his body. _Estel would do well to bathe himself,_ the Elf mused. When Legolas had left the Ranger to setting up their camp, the man had been splattered from head to toe in the black, vile blood of the throng of Orcs they had slain; despite the cool air, Aragorn had been sweating heavily from their efforts to exterminate the Orcs.

Legolas leapt onto the pool’s bank and bent down to pick up his towel just as the Adan walked from behind the small tangle of thicket that surrounded the pool of water and hindered the man’s view of the glade. With the rapidity of both an Elf and an archer, the Prince wrapped the cloth about his waist before Aragorn cleared the shoulder-high bushes.

“Come now, Greenleaf, we can’t waste the remainder of the daylight playing in the water like Elflings. There is much to do!” Aragorn spoke with a familiar joviality that constituted the normal banter of the Elf and Ranger – a lighthearted tone that spoke of the years of friendship the two had shared, beginning when the Adan was merely a boy of ten. Their friendship was a short time in the life of an Elf, but being as he had spent as much time as possible in the human's company, the Prince felt that he knew the Ranger as well as he would ever know any Man and perhaps better than he knew many of the Elves who he had known for much longer than Aragorn.

Sweat plastered Estel’s wavy, chestnut hair to his face and head, he smelled atrociously of the Orcs, and the Prince could tell that the human was beyond tired. However, the Ranger’s silver eyes glittered with lively humor as he asked, “Do you expect me to catch tonight’s dinner while you gallivant about in this pool? It is your turn.”

Legolas was not rising to the good-natured bait. The Wood-Elf was uncharacteristically quiet; he perched on the balls of his feet as he crouched at the edge of the pool to stare out into the stilling water, an odd expression on his face. Estel moved closer to the Elf, taking in the sheen of water upon and the slight tremble of the agile body before him. “Greenleaf, are you well?”

The Wood-Elf did not answer but continued to stare out into the pool, though at what Aragorn could not discern. Suddenly, the healer in the Adan emerged and he cast his calculating gaze over his friend in search of injury. They had only just been fighting Orcs, after all, and knowing Legolas as he did, Aragorn suspected that the Elf would downplay any injury he might have incurred in order to keep the Ranger from worry or bother. Again, the human tried to rouse his companion. Crouching next to the Prince and leaning his bewhiskered, tanned face in towards the Elf’s flawless, fair visage, he repeated softly, “Are you well?"

Seeing his opportunity and unable to contain his mischief any longer, Legolas shifted his weight towards Aragorn, giving the surprised human a mighty shove forwards with his shoulder. The Ranger flailed ere stumbling only to fall headfirst into the knee-deep water before him, a short-lived yelp of shock bursting from his lungs ere his torso entered the pond – and then, all sounds the Adan might have been making were subdued by the frigid water.

The sight of his human friend’s legs thrashing about in the air, while the Ranger’s torso and head were submerged, was enough for Legolas’ trembling titters to erupt into full-fledged peals of laughter. He let loose a hearty cachinnation, the likes of which had the Elf as in need of air as the immersed human.

Soon the man resurfaced upright, inundated with water, and wearing a muddled, disbelieving expression on his face, only to find his Elven companion in tears from laughter. Initially, the Ranger only sputtered incoherently. This drew the attention of Legolas, whose laughter began afresh with renewed fervor at seeing Aragorn’s confusion. The Ranger, however, recovered his wits and rushed to the bank, intent on tackling the sniggering laegel. Aware of the man’s coming attack, the Silvan clutched his slipping towel tighter about his waist, gained his feet in a hurry, and leapt backwards, all the while still laughing.

Aragorn halted just short of Legolas, having seen the Elf’s evasive maneuver and almost not stopping himself before he tackled the ground that Legolas adroitly vacated. The Ranger scowled, water dripping from his forehead and running down his cloak in rivulets. “And why did you do that?”

The Elf ceased laughing after a few final snorts of amusement and then assessed Aragorn’s mood. _I hope I did not push him too far_ , the Prince fretted before he promptly burst into more laughter at his own thoughts. _Pushed him too far... I pushed him into the pool!_

The Ranger did not appear amused, however, and crossed his soaked arms over his damp chest to glare at the Wood-Elf. “Are you finished?"

Regaining his composure, the Elf held his towel with one hand and his aching ribs with the other. He hadn’t laughed that long in a while, for there had been little humor in his life as of late. “I am sorry.” Seeing that the Adan was still faking irritation, Legolas quipped in hopes of drawing a smile from the Ranger, “It was the only way I could think of to ensure that you would bathe!”

The Wood-Elf’s amusement threatened to return, but he stifled his desire to laugh – Aragorn appeared no less upset than before. But then, the Adan’s blatantly false annoyance became a sneer of miscreant delight. “I had intended to bathe, _Master Elf_ , but I _did_ want to remove my clothes first.”

The Ranger’s sneer curled into a sickly sweet smile. He advanced on Legolas a step at a time, shaking his drenched clothing as if he were a waterlogged dog. Small droplets of water flew about the human. The Prince moved a step back for each one Aragorn took forward. “You have an extra set of clothes. No harm is done,” Legolas placated, returning the man’s mendaciously innocent grin while continuing to retreat from the advancing Ranger.

He was not truly afraid of Estel; he was, however, wary of what vengeance the man would claim for his prank. Always there was retribution. Legolas had learnt this long ago from the Noldorin twins and they had taught their human foster brother the same.

“Yes, that may be true. Yet, you forget, it is winter and my only cloak is now soaked. I am not as impervious to the elements as you are, _Master Elf._ ”

Legolas heard the teasing sarcasm of the Adan’s tone, but Estel’s words still reminded the Silvan of the man’s mortality. The thought had not occurred to the Prince that Estel would be cold and his recklessness with the human’s welfare sobered Legolas immensely, despite that it had not been the Ranger’s intent to chastise the Elf. He apologized, saying, “I did not think of you becoming cold. Goheno nin, Estel.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Catching the fall of Legolas’ humor, Aragorn wished to retain the levity, which had been missing in their companionship over the last few weeks despite their sustained attempt at banter – a thing that usually came easily for them. The Ranger sprung forward, hurling himself into the smaller but stronger being before him; the contrite Elf was unprepared for the sudden movement and both Wood-Elf and human fell to the cushion of pine needles that littered the pool’s shore with Aragorn atop the stunned Silvan.

Before the Elf could escape his grasp, Aragorn straddled his friend’s stomach, though he was careful not to smother the struggling Wood-Elf, and tickled relentlessly the sculpted pale torso beneath him, which elicited tortured, laughing cries of surrender from Legolas. The Elf writhed feebly on the ground to escape the onslaught, moving upwards and eventually managing to slide his hips from beneath the Ranger. Adan and Elf looked at each other, both beaming widely. He could not remember the last time he had tried to hold the Prince down to tickle him in such a way, but it must have been long ago when Estel was a child. Just the memory made him laugh again, to which the Prince laughed in response, as if thinking similar thoughts of memories past. Although both were well beyond their respective majority, neither friend felt that he had to act like an adult around the other – at least, not unless there were Orcs, Elves, or other dangerous or judging creatures around.

Rising to his knees and then to his feet in a crouch, the laegel walked back along the ground, shedding his towel unknowingly when he stepped on the tail of the cloth as he rose. Gasping imperceptibly upon noticing this, the Elf searched the ground for the moment it took to locate his towel and then darted forward to snatch the cloth from the forest floor. Legolas' distress caused Aragorn to start.

 _He has never been so shy before,_ Aragorn ruminated.

The Silvan Prince whipped the towel around his waist and stood simultaneously. The scar on the Elf’s thigh peeked out from under the towel, just where it curved above his knee. Many times the two friends had treated each other’s injuries and several of those times had been various leg wounds, but Aragorn couldn’t remember ever seeing this long scar, whose pink, rough edges told him that the mar had been made recently. Legolas shifted towards where his clothing lay, but the Ranger put his hand out to halt the Elf by grabbing gingerly his scarred thigh.

Legolas gasped again, this time loud enough that Aragorn could hear him without any trouble. The Ranger ran his finger along the scar, turned his inquisitive eyes to his friend, and queried in innocent curiosity, “What happened here?"

The Elf backed away from Aragorn, his eyes wide and unseeing, before he turned on heel and stalked from the clearing with clothes, boots, and weapons in hand, while leaving a once again confused Ranger to speculate, _I have never seen Greenleaf look so terrified. Why would he fear me?_

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Legolas almost reached their camp before realizing that he was sprinting through the woods mostly unclothed. He stopped to dress while muttering as many Dwarven curses as he could recall. _I knew this would happen. I have overreacted and now Estel will not let me be until he knows of the scar._ He had tried to bathe without the human around to avoid this noticing, had not dressed or undressed with Estel nearby, and had hid any discomfort the injury caused him all in his efforts to keep from having the Ranger see and thus question the mar’s existence.

The thought of explaining to his human friend why he had been reticent and somber the last couple of weeks was not a pleasant one. The Elf could only imagine what the Ranger was thinking right now and what the Adan would assume about the odd mar on the Prince's body. Legolas had half-expected Aragorn to run after him through the woods. He was relieved that Estel had not.

_I have thrown him into the frigid water and left him there._

His ears and cheeks burned pink from the shame of his prank. The battle with the Orcs had lightened Legolas’ spirit; he had felt once more in control of events around him, which had bolstered his good mood and ameliorated the ever-present fear that haunted his thoughts. Nothing restored his confidence more than his abilities as a warrior. Spontaneously, he had decided to throw the Adan in the water, as allusion to a prank the human’s twin foster brothers once pulled on the Ranger, who had been a child of ten at the time. Now, however, he cursed his impulsiveness. Guilt confounded his shame, making the Wood-Elf unsure whether he should just tell his friend what had happened in Lake-town or try to apologize and hope that Estel would forget the scar and Legolas' reaction to it being handled.

When he walked into the dell where they had picked earlier to spend their night, the Silvan noted that the campsite was set up expertly. The nearly smokeless fire warmed the small clearing; it was arranged so that it could be stoked effortlessly into a cooking fire once they had game to roast. The orange coruscations from the licking flames made the stark outlines of the leafless trees golden and the thick blanket of pine needles where the Ranger had placed their sleeping rolls would make a comfortable bed. Taking his cloak from his shoulders, Legolas searched through their bags for Estel’s extra set of clothes and a dry towel. The clothes and towel he placed in his cloak and set the bundle near to the small fire to warm them. The harried Elf then set out to find dinner, padding softly through the woods with a mounting panic that he could not quell.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aragorn had wanted to run after Legolas. _He will tell me in time. I must trust him to seek my council should he need it._ Still, the Ranger believed that his friend was suffering, though from what he wasn’t sure. _He seemed distressed. He looked frightened of me._

The two had been companions for nearly all the years of the human’s life, traveling together and hunting Orcs, venturing into unexplored areas, and helping their respective peoples when they could do so. Sometimes Aragorn would leave to travel with the Dúnedainand Legolas would return to Eryn Galen to attend to his kith and his duties, but eventually the two and perhaps the notorious Noldorin twins would come together, for they were close friends and did not care to be parted for long. Legolas, Elrohir, and Elladan had been friends since their Elfling days, their Naneths having been like sisters to each other. Since first Estel met the Woodland Prince, the Adan had considered the Wood-Elf his closest friend outside his brothers. The times he could spend alone with the Prince had grown fewer as he grew older and Estel would not have this excursion marred by any conflict, for he wanted desperately to stay in the laegel's good company. Often he found himself missing Legolas more than he missed his brothers or foster father; he often dreamt of the beguiling, kind Wood-Elf and thought of him frequently and fondly when they were parted.

The Ranger walked slowly through the woods back to the campsite. The winter was ending so the days were mild and the nights chilly, although it seemed to Estel that tonight was frostier than it had been the last few nights. _Of course, that could be because I am currently drenched._ Aragorn was more than agreeable to being soaked and shivering from the cold because for a few moments the joy and light in Legolas’ cobalt blue eyes had returned to normal. This joyfulness had been peculiarly absent the last few weeks.

After staying in Imladris for a while to recuperate from a particularly nasty bout of sickness, the Adan had desired to roam the woods again and had left on foot for the Greenwood as he had promised the Prince he would try to do once the worst of winter had passed. Legolas had been ostensibly jubilant, if not a bit aberrantly anxious, to see the human again. The Elf-King’s court had been in upheaval due to the winter solstice festival – Aragorn had blamed this for Legolas’ unusual behavior. However, now he questioned his attentiveness to the Wood-Elf and wondered if Legolas' odd manner had a cause that went deeper than his tyrant father Thranduil or the trying duties of his royalty.

 _I should have noticed this sooner. Legolas has been enduring this burden alone. He is too proud to tell me, whatever it is._ Aragorn pondered how the Elf had come by his odd scar and why he had pulled away from his friendly touch. _Surely, Thranduil did not cause that wound in anger. He was quick to hide it – it is most unlike him to be so bashful._ Elves were typically uninhibited when it came to their bodies and never before had Legolas been so modest around his Adan friend.

Estel entered their campsite, noting first that Legolas was absent. He walked to the fire to warm his tingling skin only to find that a bundle containing a dry towel and his extra clothes lay there, soaking in the fire’s warmth. _Looks like a peace offering to me,_ Aragorn thought happily, as he exchanged his icy, wet clothes for the warm, dry set. The cloak, he discerned, belonged to his Elven friend. Wrapping it about himself, the Ranger inhaled the familiar scent of bergamot and pines that the Wood-Elf always seemed to smell of, while he waited patiently for the Silvan’s return, positive that his companion had gone hunting for their dinner.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas sported a brace of rabbits when he returned to camp. He tried to avoid meeting Aragorn’s eyes by field dressing his catch with his back turned to the Ranger. Neither spoke for a while although the silence was companionable.

“Thank you for the use of your cloak. I am sure mine will be dry soon enough,” Estel said to break the silence once it had gone on long past his liking.

“It is the least I can do, since it is my fault your cloak is wet,” Legolas replied. He turned to face the Ranger, his countenance apologetic, “I am sorry, I –”

The Adan interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand and a forgiving smile, “Enough. I wasn’t complaining. No harm is done and I was pleased to see you enjoying yourself.”

Legolas had no reply to Aragorn’s comment. He turned back to cleaning the rabbits. The hushed footsteps of his friend drawing near were the only sounds in the cozy glade. “Greenleaf,” the Ranger started hesitantly, “I want to ask you...”

It was the Elf’s turn to interrupt. “I am sorry. I overreacted.” He realized his mistake too late and tensed for the coming question.

“You overreacted to what? How did I upset you?” the Ranger inquired. The human was standing behind him, looming over him. It made the Prince suddenly nervous – not out of fear of Estel, but out of the sudden alarm that he would not be able to evade the Adan’s questions without his acting the fool again.

Laying down his bloodied knife, the Elf picked up the readied rabbit, stood, and moved to the fire, walking past Aragorn with his eyes upon the meat in hand so that he would not need to face the Adan as he spoke. “It was not you. I am sorry. That is all that is important.”

Snorting an exasperated sigh, Aragorn turned to watch Legolas, who was spitting the rabbits upon sturdy green sticks that he’d already shorn of bark. Instead of being appeased with Legolas’ apology, the Ranger’s aggravation was rising. “Stop being stubborn. I know you suffer and I would know why. You have not been yourself these past weeks. Tell me what ails you. Do you not trust me?”

He kept busy with his cooking and from the ground chose a small branch to stoke the fire into vibrant flames so that he could roast the spitted meat. Legolas responded in a similar cross tone, as he still hoped that he might avoid speaking of this, “I trust you. Do you not trust me to tell you when I am troubled?”

The Ranger huffed, shaking his head in indignation. “I do not. Too often before have you hid yourself from me in matters of importance. I trust you with my life and well-being, though with your own you seem reckless. Tell me.” The Ranger was pleading, his hands out in supplication. Trying a different tactic, he asked, “Where did the scar come from, Greenleaf?”

The Wood-Elf now had the embers stoked into a steady blaze over which to cook the rabbits. _I might as well tell him something, just enough to pacify him until I am ready – if I am ever ready – to reveal the extent of the damage done._

Aloud the proud Prince answered, “I sustained this injury from a branch in a tree.” The answer was not a lie except in its simplicity. With methodical, slow movements, he seared the outermost flesh of the rabbit meat before thrusting between two rocks the end of the limb on which it was spitted. Already the glade smelled deliciously of roasting rabbit.

“How did you come to get it?” the man questioned forthwith. With his back turned to the Ranger, he could not see the adamant, vexed frown upon the Adan’s face, but he could hear it in his voice.

Unwilling to answer further questions since his explanations would only incite more questions, the Prince would not relent to give any more information. He settled into sitting upon his heels before the flames, all his attention for the simple task of cooking and sparing none of it for the Ranger. He could not look at his Adan friend out of fear that he would lose his resolve to keep his troubles to himself. He had no desire to burden the human. Allowing no leeway for argument, the Prince told the Adan, “We will speak of this some other time.”

Knowing from their years of friendship that pushing the Silvan would only cause him to retreat further from him, the Ranger decided to yield, instead. “Fine,” Aragorn said with a sigh. “I am no longer hungered. I think I would rather sleep than eat. You will take the first watch?”

Saddened by his friend’s obvious frustration, the Wood-Elf returned in a voice soft with the melancholy he felt to have upset the human so, “Yes, Estel. Sleep well.”

Without another word, Aragorn reclined upon his bedroll and draped it over his head to block out the light and cold, leaving Legolas to stoke the fires that cooked the dinner for which he no longer hungered, either.


	2. Chapter 2

The night moved slowly for Legolas. Normally, he would spend his watch gazing thoughtfully at the stars or singing softly to himself. Tonight he only worried. It had been weeks since he had slept properly and the toll of the day’s battle had been especially tough on the Wood-Elf. _I will be lucky to sleep unhindered this night._ Legolas sighed, looking over to the bedrolls where Aragorn lay in peaceful slumber. He almost envied the man’s ease. _Enough,_ he scolded himself. _I will not be covetous of the blameless sleep of a friend._

In fact, this reasoning was one motive behind the Elf’s reluctance to tell his companion what had happened. The Adan was merely a child compared to Legolas’ long years. He had seen much in his short time and was destined to see much more before his mortal life ended, but it pained Legolas to think that the human should have knowledge of the depravities that had been forced on his Elven friend. The Ranger already had seen enough to have shed any childish belief in the general goodness of everyone he met, had watched friends and enemies alike die from wounds and torment that would break most people, and the human had grown no less kind for any of it. However, the Ranger would not let alone the issue should Legolas tell him any small part of it and eventually would know all; and thus, he would be that much less innocent for knowing. He would not let Estel lose a moment's peace or a night's rest over the matter.

_And therein lays the problem. He is one of only a few whom I would tell._

Sighing again, Legolas fought his urge to drift into Elven dreams, knowing that the nightmare that haunted him in his waking would follow him into his reverie. He stared long above him at the empty boughs of the trees, his tired mind slipping away even as his body stayed awake and somewhat watchful. Eventually, he laid his chin on one knee and fell fully into reverie, being none the wiser that he’d done so.

As if he were there again, the Elf saw clearly the woods around him and the upcoming plank bridge that crossed from the woods, over the water, and to his destination.

_Legolas beamed with pleasure as he walked towards the human settlement of Lake-town. Often he had ventured here either for goods, to represent the Wood-Elves in matters of import or trade, or just to see the growth of the human town. Although the Elves of Eryn Galen held little contact outside of the forest save for diplomatic relations, the people of Lake-town had forged a symbiotic relationship with King Thranduil’s realm and were on friendly terms. Each was dependent on the other for various goods and services or coin. Legolas had not been to Lake-town but a handful of times in the last twenty-five years or so. The buildings, the walkways, and the people all appeared the same to the Wood-Elf, however, for even after Smaug had burnt the old town and it was rebuilt, it was constructed in much the same fashion as before, although this time it was built sturdier and more ornate since the people were now wealthier._

_Elves were not an uncommon sight in Lake-town, although most of the business between the two realms was conducted on the outskirts of town, where the empty barrels from Thranduil’s palace would float down the Forest River. Even so, the Prince did not go unnoticed. Legolas was impervious to the stares of the humans gawking at him because of his pointed ears, fair appearance, and fine clothing. He had a reason for venturing so far into town. If anyone stared overly much, it was likely because he wondered how he might gain a coin from the Elf. The people of Lake-town were traders above all else and coveted wealth; they catered to the point of patronization to any Elf that showed up in their floating trade center, for they knew from where much of their more profitable trade came, especially in regards to wine and foodstuffs._

If Estel does not appreciate what I have gone through to obtain this pipe-weed, then I will make him eat it, _he told himself_. _In a month or so, Legolas expected the Ranger to come to the Greenwood as the winter festival ended, and from there he and the Adan would hunt Orcs and travel without destination or hurry. Spending time with Estel was one of the few things that broke up the monotony of royal life for the Prince of the Woodland Realm and he greatly anticipated the human’s arrival._

 _The Wood-Elf stopped in front of a store that he believed to be the one that he needed, based on the sign out front depicting a smoking pipe. It was rumored that the rarest Halfling’s Leaf from the Shire was sold here and Legolas intended to buy some for his companion as recompense for a wayward incident involving Aragorn’s favorite pipe and some glue._ Who would have known he didn’t want his pipe decorated with ribbons? _Legolas chuckled to himself as he entered the store, adding,_ It serves him right for pouring honey in my quiver.

_The contrast between the light and airy atmosphere of Lake-town and the dark and dank environs of the shop caused the Elf to wrinkle his nose in repulsion. He had never understood how humans could remain cooped up without fresh air or nature. Even under the mountain in his father’s halls, the air was fresher than inside this building._

_A long counter ran through the middle of the front room and shelves filled with goods sat behind it. In this shop in particular, jars of pipe-weed were crowded along almost half of the finely carved shelves. On a placard before each jar was written a series of abbreviations that the Prince could not understand, being that he did not smoke and knew little of pipe-weed. Pipes both elaborate and simple hung from hooks and other items related to the foul habit of smoking were scattered amidst the jars. The rest of the shelves displayed thick glass bottles of wines and liquors, and on Legolas' side of the counter were great kegs of beers, ales, and wines, each similarly marked in ways that the Elf did not recognize. They stacked almost to the ceiling._

_Looking around the shop and having to peer around one such stack of kegs to find him, Legolas saw that the only person in the store was the well-dressed and well-fed shopkeeper, who sat on a hard stool by the front window, eating an apple. The Silvan walked up to him._

“ _Master Human, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am seeking a particular pipe-weed that I believe you sell.” The Elf gave the man a smile. Most Lake-town shopkeepers would have risen the moment an Elf entered their store, ready to try to ply said Elf with as many goods as possible to make the most coin that they could._

_The shopkeeper had heard the Prince enter, noticed his approach, and now heard Legolas address him, but made no move to acknowledge the Elf’s presence. Legolas’ eyes hardened though he did not let his smile fade. He had dealt with the discrimination of men before. Still determined to obtain his purchase, the Elf tried again to address the shopkeeper, who was staring out his front window, chewing at the flesh of his sweet apple. He said, “Excuse me, Master Human. I seek a pipe-weed from the Shire. I am told you may sell it.”_

_A flash of light at the entrance of the store diverted Legolas’ attention. Two men crossed the threshold carrying small barrels. “Kane, here’s what you asked for, it’ll cost you a bit more than...” The man speaking stopped abruptly when he noticed the customer that the shopkeeper was attending – or not attending, as was the case. “It’s an Elf!”_

“ _Good observation, Sven,” the shopkeeper, whose name was apparently Kane, stated drolly, speaking for the first time. “Can’t get nothing past you.”_

_The younger of the two newcomers came forward to stare at Legolas. “What is it...? I mean, is it a boy or a girl?”_

_Legolas was quickly growing tired of being talked about as if he were a statue. His adamancy to find the pipe-weed was wavering and he clenched his hands in aggravation._ I should find another shop to obtain the pipe-weed, _he told himself._ This can’t be the only place in town that sells what Estel desires. _He would not flee the shop with his tail tucked between his legs at the snide remarks of the humans, however, and so stood his ground for the moment, not desiring to give them the satisfaction of seeing his anger or discomfort._

“ _It’s a male, you dolt. It can’t be a boy or girl cause it ain’t human, Cort.” The shopkeeper laughed at his own perceived wit, his guffaws shaking his massive belly. “You southerners never seen an Elf before, have you?”_

_Sven and Cort were shaking their heads in negation as they placed their barrels down next to the door. They walked farther into the shop, around the kegs, and thus placed Legolas between the shopkeeper and themselves with no clear way out of the room._

_“It’s as pretty as a girl,” the younger one commented before asking, “What does it want, Kane?”_

_Clearing his throat, Legolas answered for himself, “I have come to buy pipe-weed for a friend.” He glared at the two standing behind him and then turned to Kane. “Do you have it or not? An Elf's gold is as good as any human's, and I have it to spend.”_

_Displeased at being lectured like a child and full of self-importance, Kane dropped the empty core of his apple onto the windowsill and then ran his soft, white merchant’s fingers over the tufts of grey hair that surrounded his balding head. “I think you should have a little more respect than that, pretty Elfling. I’m the richest shopkeeper in this town and all the wine at your King’s table comes through my store.”_

_Not wanting to reveal that the King was in fact his father and he the Prince, nor desiring any further conflict, Legolas decided it was time to leave. “Never mind, human. Galu.” With that, the Elf turned to leave but found his path blocked by Sven and Cort, the latter peering at him in undisguised fascination and the former leering at him with undisguised lust. He would have to push past them to get around the casks of wine barring his exit._

_Instantly, Legolas perceived the threat to his person that these men posed although he did not yet realize their true intent. He did not want a quarrel with the shopkeeper, especially if the merchant was whom he claimed. His father and people depended on Lake-town and this man could disrupt that. The Prince would not let these humans stare at him any longer, however. Moving forwards with the intent to force past the men and exit the store, Legolas was caught off guard when Kane grabbed his arm, spinning the Elf around to face him with the momentum._

“ _What did you say to me, Elfling?” Kane had turned a dark scarlet, his white hair standing out against the rubicund features of his swollen face._

“ _I am millennia old, Master Human, so I am no Elfling, and I told you nothing but farewell," the Prince answered, tugging at his arm where Kane held it and willing the man to release him without confrontation. The Elvenking would not be pleased to learn that the Prince had disturbed relations with Lake-town over a packet of pipe-weed, especially one intended for a human Ranger that his father already hated. And so, Legolas merely stood there, waiting for the man to acknowledge that he was mistaken in believing the Wood-Elf to have insulted him._

“ _He’s lying, Kane,” Sven intervened. “I say we teach the pretty Elfling to respect his betters.” He had endured the desirous looks of others before and never paid them much mind, but then, he had never been gazed upon with the promise of such rapacious violence. The lecherousness in the man’s gaze was turning Legolas’ stomach and the idea of staying until these men saw reason no longer appealed to the Wood-Elf._

_Ripping his arm from Kane’s grasp, Legolas darted between the men blocking the entryway only to be pulled back roughly by Sven’s hand, which had found a tight hold on the Elf's long flaxen hair, close to his scalp where the Elf could not easily yank it free from Sven’s hold. Before Legolas could register this entirely unexpected occurrence, Kane threw his meaty fist into the Silvan’s midsection, effectively pausing Legolas’ attempts to struggle when all breath left his chest and his vision went dark. He nearly fell to his knees. Even as he gasped for air and another fist landed on his temple, rocking his head back into the hand that still held his hair, the Wood-Elf was stunned by what was occurring. He might have expected some prejudice, dislike, insults, or to some extent even anticipated the leers he’d received, but never had he expected to be assaulted. He stumbled only to be righted by Sven. Having not yet caught his breath from the blow to his chest, Legolas could not seem to stand; his legs felt like storm bent saplings and would not obey him readily._

“ _Cort,” Kane ordered fiercely, “get that rope there. Let’s take him in the back. Hurry before someone comes in.”_

_The elder of the southerners, Sven, harrumphed in excitement, proposing, “I’d like to see if the rest of him is as fair as his face is.”_

_At hearing this lewd suggestion, Legolas fumbled for the long knife strapped at his waist, but the humans were not as wary of hurting him as he was of them. A definitive blow to the back of his skull with an empty bottle of wine sent the Silvan into oblivion, his hand falling from the hilt of his knife just as his consciousness fell into nothingness._

Legolas righted himself from his slumped position. _I was close this time._ The few times the Elf had made it past the point in the dream where the men had taken him to the back room, he had woken on the verge of willful death – a death desired to escape the despair the memories incited. He looked over to the sleeping Ranger and decided not to wake the human for his watch. The Elf’s weariness threatened to lull him back to sleep but he could not chance waking Aragorn with his toils or worse yet, never waking again should his despair finally take him. Absently, the Prince rubbed the scar on his thigh through the cloth of his leggings.

_I don’t think I will ever sleep again._


	3. Chapter 3

Morning came too early for Aragorn, though he was surprised to find the sun had risen when he awoke. A light layer of frosty dew covered the leafless tree directly above his head. It glistened with scintillating ice. Usually he rose quickly, preferring to be on his way to take advantage of the daylight, especially during the shorter days of the snowy season. Today, however, he lingered under the cloak and blanket, huddling farther under its warmth. _Yesterday it seemed almost springtime; this morning is colder than last night. Winter is not yet over._

The light spilling through the naked tree limbs warmed Aragorn’s face and soon he felt the need to rise. He moved slowly, wiggling his fingers and then his toes. He stretched his legs out until his booted feet were free of his warm cocoon; only then did he throw the blanket off to sit up. His head spun momentarily at the abrupt shift of position and the human growled bearishly at the intrusion on his rest, though it was himself who intruded upon it.

“I was beginning to think you would sleep all day.” Legolas sat atop his bedroll, smiling wanly at the Ranger. The Elf scooped up a small pot to hand to Estel. “Here are last night’s remains. Eat quickly. I wish to move from here before my hair turns grey. The day grows late, Master Human.”

Snorting at the obvious overstatement, Aragorn accepted the pot and peered inside. The meat that the Prince cooked last night lay in its entirety in the pot, with the rabbit not even disturbed from the bone. _Legolas was not hungry either, it seems._

“Here,” he offered, holding the vessel out to the Silvan, “take some. Elves need more than song and trees to survive.”

The Prince only shook his head at the offer of the rabbit and stood from his bedroll to gather their belongings. Aragorn noted the drawn countenance of his companion. The Elf’s eyes were rimmed in black circles that stood out prominently in comparison to the Silvan’s pale cream skin. Legolas’ cheeks seemed hollow and his face drawn, as if he had lost weight. The Prince was thin anyway, partially because he was an Elf but also because of the harsh conditions that he willingly undertook on his journeys with the Ranger and his Woodland kin in patrolling their borders. Also, because the Silvan was primarily an archer and carried a light long knife rather than a hefty broadsword, his flesh was muscled but not as much as someone who typically wielded heavy weaponry. As one of the Firstborn, Legolas was still much stronger than he appeared, however.

 _He has not slept,_ Aragorn worried. _He does not even look to have slept these past weeks we've been in the forest._ The human picked out a well-cooked and seasoned piece of the meat, eating it with relish as he realized, _In fact, I do not know that I have seen him sleep since we left his father’s halls. Always he has taken the watch at night and does not wake me, or he sits in the trees where I cannot see if he slumbers or not._

Growing more worried about his Silvan friend, the Ranger inquired, “Why did you not wake me for my watch?”

Again, Legolas only shook his head and did not bother to look at Aragorn as he replied, “I had no need for sleep.”

“Elves need both food and rest, and yet you take neither.” Aragorn bit his tongue from continuing his train of thought. He had been awake for only moments and was already bickering with his friend. What he truly wanted to ask was what was wrong with the Elf. He knew Legolas would only evade the question once more and he did not want to nag him. _He will come to me when he needs me. If nothing else, last night has reminded me that Greenleaf will stubbornly keep his secrets if he wishes._

The Prince did not respond, however, and the moment of awkwardness passed. Quietly, the Ranger broke his fast while watching the Elf tidy the camp and stow their scant belongings back into their baggage. When the Elf was done, the campsite appeared as it did before Aragorn had sat down the first bag – that is, except for the bedroll the Ranger currently sat on, the freshly turned dirt that covered the dead fire pit, and the small indentations in the ground from the human’s footsteps.

Returning to the Ranger, the Elf picked up the end of the bedroll and tugged it gently. “Come now, up, lazy human.” Legolas smiled brilliantly, making Aragorn helpless but to smile in return at the beautiful Elf.

Knowing that his friend was trying to lighten the mood after yesterday’s misunderstanding, Estel laid back on the bedroll and closed his eyes, willing the Elf to try to move it from underneath him. “I think this lazy human will sleep longer yet. Mayhap until lunchtime? What will you cook me for lunch?” A long shadow blocked Aragorn from the warmth of the sun. Opening his eyes, the Ranger looked at the towering Prince above him.

“Now, human, or I will be forced to make you rise.”

Ignoring the threat, Aragorn turned over, making as if to pull his borrowed cloak about him like a blanket, when the Elf dropped neatly down on him much as the Ranger had done the day before to the Prince. Straddling the human’s lower stomach and grabbing Estel’s wrists in one long fingered hand, Legolas grinned down at the Ranger, an odd glint in his eyes that Aragorn recognized instantly as an indication of the Elf’s mischievous streak coming through.

The Ranger did not struggle. He knew the Prince was much stronger than he was. Moving his face closer to the human’s visage, Legolas grinned wider. “I think it is time for my revenge.”

Aragorn had no chance of escape as the laegel’s nimble hands moved about his ribs in retribution for yesterday. Laughing grievously, the Ranger could only squirm in ticklish discomfort while the Wood-Elf worked him thoroughly, his fingertips ghosting across the human's clothed ribs, much as the Prince had done many times when the human was younger. When Estel’s breath came in short, quick rasps, Legolas finally ceased his torture and released the man's hands.

The Elf still grinned down at the man, who was trying strenuously to regain normal respiration. Both of them were caught up in the wonderful moment between them, feeling again like the friends they once were when the Adan had been a child and not the worrisome adults they were now. Moreover, the Ranger was slowly becoming aware of the strange pleasure he felt at having the Wood-Elf’s slight weight resting upon his navel. Neither, however, had been paying attention to the forthcoming danger.

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Legolas’ solitary warning was the widening of Aragorn’s eyes as they stared past the Elf and over his shoulder. There was no time for action as a sharp blade soon laid against the Wood-Elf’s throat while a hand fisted in the cloth of the back of his tunic’s collar. Never before had the Prince been so negligent in keeping watch out for danger, but then, never before had he been mired in a consuming grief that whelmed his natural Elven abilities to perceive the presence of others through his keen senses. His distractive sorrow was compounded by his play with Estel such that he had detected nothing of the approach of whomever it was who had snuck upon them.

Unable to move lest he cut his own throat, Legolas remained still. The Ranger lying beneath him did not move, either, out of fear for the laegel’s life. A voice met the Prince's ears that the Elf recognized with horrified revulsion and utmost loathing, his stomach falling as a nightmare he'd lived over and over again in his restless reveries was now realized.

“Well, funny that we should meet you in the middle of nowhere, Elfling. Guess you didn’t have enough last time, eh?”


	4. Chapter 4

Legolas' first thought was of the painful memoir that he bore from his last encounter with the man who currently held a blade at his neck. Even now, naught else entered his mind but the flood of panic and memory. He could feel the burn of the scar, the reminder of his humiliation and excruciation, which threatened to overtake his consciousness with despair. A newcomer holding his short sword to Aragorn's neck gave Legolas pause from his inner turmoil as he realized that no longer was this only his own life in danger but the life of one of his greatest allies and closest friends, as well. He stifled the sudden need to press his throat hard against the sharp blade; his own preservation was now tied into Aragorn's survival. His dread of the implications of the voice, of what the voice had done and would do, was enough to make the Elf want to moan in frustrated terror.

"The Ranger will die if you so much as move, Elfling."

The sword at Legolas’ neck quivered slightly, the blade cutting across the pale column of his throat. The pain from the slick wound was nothing compared to the fear Legolas felt at that statement. _At all costs, Estel will not be tainted, not by blade nor the experience of such shame._

Aloud he asked, "What would you have me do?"

The two men laughed humorlessly. The Elf had learnt his place. He was theirs, not his own, and from the sound of their heartless merriment, Legolas knew he would not survive the day. With a sigh of resignation that would never normally cross his lips, the Elf tried to prepare himself for whatever may come. When he and Aragorn had headed south in the Mirkwood forest to hunt Orcs and spiders, the Prince had only given thought to staying away from Lake-town and never once considered that he might meet his attackers outside the floating town.

"Stand," the fell voice commanded him.

The once proud Elf complied with submissive urgency, showing no hesitance when Aragorn lay beneath his enemy’s blade. In quick, thorough motions, the merchant searched the Wood-Elf for weapons but found none – the Elf’s long knife, bow and quiver, and his dagger were all laid carefully out several feet away with the rest of their belongings, as was Aragorn’s broadsword, bow and quiver. The human had a dagger hidden inside his boot that the merchants’ did not find, but the human was currently incapable of reaching for it without risking injury or death.

"Cort, toss me the rope." As the young man complied and threw the rope to his elder, Sven kicked the Prince savagely behind his knees, causing Legolas to drop back to the ground and nearly making him topple over onto the Ranger. The Woodland Prince saw Aragorn's look of confusion and fear as the Elf scrambled back to his knees, helpless for now to stop the unfolding events.

"Do not harm the Ranger." Legolas' voice cracked with the trepidation he tried valiantly to keep hidden for Estel’s benefit. The sunshine and cool of the morning, the singing birds, and the gentle rustling of wildlife in the forest beyond were a stark contrast to the Wood-Elf’s dark memories and even gloomier expectations. He pled to them, “He is of no consequence to you. Do what you will with me but let him go.”

"The Ranger will not be harmed, Elfling – so long as you please me – but I can’t let him go now, can I? Not until we’ve had our fun." Sven wrenched Legolas’ arms behind his back and tied the rough rope about the Elf's wrists as securely as possible, causing the cord to bite into Legolas' flesh. “Do not move, pretty one. Be still.”

Legolas remained as he was while the man bound his ankles together tightly. Once done, Sven wrenched the Prince backwards to hold close to his own body and placed his sword again at the Elf’s throat to keep him compliant. The Prince could smell the horse and wine upon the man’s clothes, could feel the already swelling flesh of the human’s shaft within his trousers as it rubbed against Legolas’ shoulder, for Sven stood behind him while Legolas was still on his knees. “Tie the Ranger to the tree. We don’t want him interfering.”

“Why do we not just slit his throat?” the young man asked, though he obeyed his elder's order. His lank and greasy hair hung loosely about his scarred face; Cort pushed his wayward locks behind his ears so that he could see. “We could leave him for the spiders and take the Elf with us, yes?”

Sven grunted in disgust at his companion's lack of understanding. “Firstly, I am not riding into town with a tied Elf and secondly, idiot, our toy here will not give us any trouble if we keep his Ranger alive. Will you, Elfling?”

The Prince of Mirkwood said naught but nodded his head and then lowered it so that he could not see Aragorn’s face. The Elf held no hope for his own survival but prayed to Ilúvatar that Estel would be spared. _I cannot live through this again._

“It’s a shame, though,” Sven murmured in eager anticipation while running his fingers through the thick, long hair at the back of the Prince’s head. Cort was unwinding more rope with which to truss up the Ranger. “As much as I wish we could keep him, we’d best make use of him and then be on our way.”

The Wood-Elf could feel the Ranger’s gaze upon him, willing him to look up, to fight against what was occurring rather than let himself be captive to these malevolent merchants who in a fair fight would have stood no chance against the Silvan. Legolas had no doubt the man would rather die than have him suffer; Legolas held the same conviction. As long as his obedience kept the Ranger alive, he would suffer willingly. _I only hope they will let him free or he finds freedom after they have killed me._

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Aragorn longed to shake his head, to clear it of the fog that had descended over his thinking from the moment the man had appeared over Legolas’ shoulder. His confusion stemmed from his disbelief that they had been so lax in their vigilance that two men had snuck up on them, both of whom looked like simple goods traders. However, he was more taken aback by the merchants’ familiarity with the Prince. _Whatever circumstances under which Legolas has met these men, it places us in grave danger now._ The Elf avoided eye contact, something that unnerved the Ranger. _Look at me_ , Aragorn pled. _We will escape this_. The young human could not comprehend the silent acquiescence that the Wood-Elf adopted. Whatever it was that these two men wanted, they would surely take it and leave, and as long as Aragorn or Legolas could free himself afterwards, then the taking of their coin or goods would not be worth either of them being hurt. They were close enough to Eryn Galen that they could easily return to replace whatever had been stolen.

When Estel shifted on the ground in unknowing agitation, the older merchant ordered, “I said – do not move, Ranger, or the Elf will pay for your disobedience.” Immediately the wary Ranger stilled, for the honed blade at Legolas’ throat slid across the pale skin, leaving a thin line of weeping claret in its wake. Even this small a wound devastated Estel’s hopes to try to avoid being tied – he would no more risk the Wood-Elf’s immortal life than Legolas would risk his. As the young one tied Aragorn’s now unresisting hands around the tree, harshly pulling the rope taut so that the Adan was forced into sitting with his back flush to the bark and his arms pulled around the trunk behind him, the older merchant instructed, “Tie his feet, too, and make sure the ropes are snug.”

Aragorn ignored the man binding his ankles together for he was more concerned for Legolas. The Elf’s head hung in acceptance and shame, though for what the Ranger could not guess. From years of being amongst the Firstborn and knowing that their acumen and skills outmatched his own, Estel found himself looking to the Wood-Elf for guidance as to what to do. That Legolas was yielding went against what the Ranger thought the Prince might ever do in such a situation, which only served to heighten the Adan’s confusion, for he would never have assumed Legolas would give in so easily. If they were surrounded by Orcs, the laegel would already have chanced both their lives to try to escape, but held captive by two human merchants, the Elf had submitted as if there was some reason – unknown to Estel – that was sufficient cause for the Prince to lose hope for his survival so quickly. And yet, still the young Ranger followed the elder Elf’s lead by remaining quiet and compliant, though had he any idea of what was to come next, the Adan might have chosen to fight to their deaths to prevent it.

His task now finished, Cort walked to Sven and both stared at Aragorn with disinterest. “We’ve no use for you, Ranger. You would do well to remember that. Keep quiet and perhaps we will let you go free when we are through with your Elf,” Sven promised.

“You don’t mind if we borrow him for a while, do you?” Cort chuckled criminally at his jest. Sven removed his sword from the Elf’s throat to replace it in its scabbard. He bent, and taking up the slack rope left from tying the Prince’s hands, looped it about the laegel’s neck, twisting and jerking it forcefully. Legolas’ head whipped back, the garrote working as a leash. Aragorn saw that his friend’s eyes were closed tightly; the Elf gave no indication otherwise of the agony that having his throat bound and his breathing stifled must have caused him.

“I will do as you say,” the Elf managed to choke out around the tightened cord, promising the merchants again, “if you let the Ranger go free unharmed.”

The Ranger could not seem to find his voice to protest. _We have nothing of great value. They must see that there is nothing for them to steal here. We have no horses, no goods. All we have are weapons, bedrolls, extra clothes, and a few coins. What could they want from us? Why is Greenleaf so ready to consent?_ The Ranger considered that these two men knew of Legolas' royalty, that they might wish to try to ransom him or harm him out of spite for Thranduil. _This is some personal vendetta against Greenleaf,_ he surmised, _or for the Elvenking._

Sven leant down to where Legolas knelt, placing his face next to the Prince’s delicately pointed ear. He wrenched the rope more to pull back the Wood-Elf’s head, revealing Legolas’ fair face and the silken white skin of his throat, which was already spotted with blood from the coarse fibers of the rope noose that held him motionless. Aragorn watched as Sven moved in close to the Elf’s unprotected, bound neck, whispering, “We do not need your promises. You will do as we say, regardless, whore.”

When the man licked the silvery, cerise drops of blood from the Elf’s throat while Cort looked on with obvious lust in his eyes, the Ranger’s confusion lifted in the horrific realization of what the men wanted from his Greenleaf. 

Aragorn watched in revulsion and dismay as his friend was dragged from his knees to his feet by Sven’s grasp on the rope that still looped about Legolas’ neck. The Elf, for his part, remained impassive, though the pain from his constricted throat showed now by his labored breathing. His eyes, the Ranger noted, had opened but remained fixed on a point in the distance that Aragorn was sure did not exist. _He has endured their wickedness before. Why did I not see this?_ An ire that the Ranger had never experienced before began to rise within him. Hatred was not common to Estel but these two men were about to change that.

The Silvan could not walk, bound as he was, and so the two men lifted him, one on either side by placing their arms under his, until they reached the opposite edge of the clearing. Here they threw the Prince to the ground unceremoniously. Legolas bounced slightly and then skidded a short distance – Aragorn heard the Wood-Elf’s sharp exhale as he landed, for the Elf had landed on his back, which had twisted his bound hands and arms and driven the air from his lungs.

“I get him first,” Sven declared, his arms across his chest in resolve. Muscled and cleanly shaven, his clothes well-made and his boots new, the older of the two merchants acted the superior of his younger counterpart, who was disfigured along his neck and face by old scars made from furuncles and adolescent pimples, wore clothes that seemed to be rotting off his thin frame, and from his smell had not bathed properly in weeks. “You will make him stink,” the elder complained, giving his companion a glower as he eyed the younger human from head to toe, “and I would not have to smell you while I take him.” The elder looked down to the prone Elf with growing lust in his countenance, saying, “I want to smell him, not you. He smelled like oranges last time. Do you remember?”

“He smelled like blood, Kane’s sweat, and seed by the time I got my turn.” Placing a tattered boot against the side of the Wood-Elf's head in frustration, Cort bitterly stepped on the Prince’s temple to grind the side of the Elf’s face into the dirt and leaves underneath him. The befouled Cort belabored, “It isn’t fair – you had him first last time.”

The younger merchant removed his foot from the Prince’s head but still stood close; Estel noted how Cort trod upon the Wood-Elf’s butter-colored braids and mashed them into the soft ground. It was an odd thing for the Ranger to notice and the least of Legolas’ worries for the moment, but seeing the blatant disregard for his Greenleaf only fomented Estel’s desire to see the merchants’ blood run over his blade. He would remove Cort’s foot for that simple trespass, if he could, but he’d forgive it if only he could get free before true damage was done to Legolas.

“I didn’t get him first,” Sven argued churlishly, sounding like a child when he contended, “Kane had him first, you dolt.”

“But you had him after that,” Cort countered.

Aragorn couldn’t believe it. The men stood in the bright morning sun, the resplendence of the woods around them noisy with the chatter of birds and small game, and talked of raping Legolas as if the Elf did not lie prostrate on the ground before them. _They talk as if he were a flask of water. They seek not to quench their thirst but their perverted lust_. The Ranger’s fingers itched to reach his sword, which lay within his sight, or his dagger, which he could feel in the hidden sheathe inside his boot. He would have gladly relieved them of their bickering mouths, as well, had he but the chance to do so. Knowing that the Elf had borne their perversion before did not mollify the Ranger’s fear for his Woodland friend. _Elves do not recuperate well from such misuse. This time may well be his end._ Violently, Aragorn struggled against his bonds. Disbelief was quickly turning into ferocious wrath to slaughter the two humans.

“I will have him first or you will not have him at all,” Sven retorted murderously, his eyes ablaze with prurient possessiveness. He took a step closer to Cort, who in comparison was smaller and poorly armed, while looking very much as if he would fight the younger merchant for the chance to be the first to despoil the Wood-Elf. “You could not break him properly, besides.”

Cort, it appeared to Aragorn, gave in to his elder simply out of habit. He stepped back and away from Legolas, his hands out in mock appeasement. “Fine, just do not cause him to pass out. I would like to feel him buck and struggle beneath me the same as you.”

The Ranger’s efforts to release himself increased. _They will not have him. They will not hurt him again._ Aragorn was not surprised at his own feelings of possessiveness because he was unaware of his turbulent thoughts as he resisted his captivity. _He is not theirs to claim_.

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Legolas could hear the men quarrelling about him, arguing about who would have him first. He heard their voices as though they were a whisper in the halls of his father, where rumors and gossip would reach even the most inattentive ears by the echo of the underground palace’s long, lofty corridors. The merchants’ words were lost on him – he could perceive their voices but their implications were shadows of a memory that he held already. The Elf knew what was to come.

“Where will we tie him? I would not rut against the ground but against him.” The youth reflected upon the Elf’s imminent despoilment with forethought, his finger tapping his chin as he considered, “Mayhap we could tie his hands to the branch of this tree and spread his legs about the trunk.”

“How do you mean?” Sven seemed intrigued by his young companion’s suggestion; his earlier anger at Cort's demand to have the Elf first was now forgotten.

He could feel Cort’s hands upon him as the young merchant offered to his elder, “Help me and I will show you.”

Afraid to resist lest he encourage the men to make good on their threat against the bound Aragorn, the equally bound Legolas submitted to the merchants’ handling, allowing them to position him about the trunk of the tree closest to him. Even though they did not hold a sword to Estel’s neck at the moment, with the Ranger secured and his own legs and throat still bound, when they removed the rope at his wrists to tie him differently, Legolas feared he would not be able to get free quickly enough before one of the merchants slew him – or worse yet, Estel – and so remained acquiescent. They hastily retied his wrists to the branch directly above head and then retied his legs about the tree’s trunk, with his legs spread and arranged such that they reached partway around the narrow trunk with all his weight supported by his bound wrists. The astute pain caused by this became the focus of Legolas’ world until his throbbing wrists finally gave way to numbness, which he welcomed as he primed himself for the hateful attentions that they would soon force upon him. He would let his faer flee his rhaw even now if not that he wanted above all else to keep aware so that he could do his best to ensure that Aragorn remained unhurt and alive at the end of this torment, no matter what happened to himself.

When the men were satisfied that the Elf was both immobile and accessible, Sven turned to Cort, telling him bluntly, “Go to the Ranger. Let’s see how much the Elf values his human friend.”

With a wicked grin, Cort stalked to where a helpless Estel was tied to the tree against which he sat. “Don’t fret, Ranger,” the youth taunted when he noticed that Aragorn fought against his ropes, “we will take good care of the Elfling. Mayhap we will even leave you something to play with when we have gone.”

The Elf was bound to the tree such that his hands and feet held him close to the tree’s trunk; the insides of his legs and tender nether regions were constrained painfully around it. His torso and face were also flush to the rough bark of the tree, though they allowed him more freedom to avoid injury by the slack between the distance of the bonds about his wrists and those of his feet. Legolas closed his eyes yet again, beseeching Varda, the Lady of the Stars, to spare Estel from witnessing the excruciation that the Prince was sure to undergo at the merchants’ hands. He prayed for her somehow to spare Estel’s life when the Wood-Elf inevitably fled his rhaw and his faer was called to Mandos, for he feared that the merchants would kill the Ranger if Legolas were to fade from grief ere they were done with their depraved amusement; that is, if they did not intend to kill the Ranger anyway, which was likely. Legolas could only hope to buy time for an opportunity to arise that would allow Estel to walk away from this safely.

For the first time since the men had appeared in the glade, Estel spoke. Quietly but vehemently, the Ranger warned the merchants, “If you touch him, you will die by my blade.”

The intimidation and fury that the Ranger’s tone held was not lost on the Elf. _For Estel, I will persist, if for nothing else._ With a new resolve, Legolas maintained his awareness of his surroundings, afraid to surrender to the desolation that endangered his despairing faer, his wretchedness waxing from the threat of being forced to endure what he had barely managed to survive the first time weeks ago. Sven only laughed at Aragorn’s warning. Intent on his pleasure, the merchant began to cut the cloth from the Prince’s body, which hung before him.

Legolas could not have broken out of his bonds, though his heart bid him to try. The ropes bit into his skin like the knife Sven was using to cut away his finely made tunic – both were causing similar discomfort, as well, both making his fair skin seep blood, for both were gouging carelessly into his flesh. Having finally reached the light blue undershirt the Elf wore, the human merely grabbed the cloth in hand to yank it from the Elf’s body, pulling the Prince back only to have his body slam painfully into the tree trunk when the shirt tore free of his torso.

“Looks like the whore has lost some weight.” Licking his captive’s pointed ear lewdly, Sven commented to Legolas, “It only makes you that much weaker, Elfling. You did not even fight this. Perhaps you enjoyed your time on the wine barrel more than your screams belied?”

The man ran his hands along the laegel's svelte torso, feeling the muscles contract under his touch. Although the Elf’s movement was severely limited, he twisted by instinct to avoid the man’s repulsive handling. Abruptly jerking the rope that lay around Legolas’ throat to draw the Elf’s head back, Sven ran his tongue over the bloodied and torn flesh of the Silvan’s throat, drinking in the silvery drops of crimson blood thereon as though they were wine or the Wood-Elf some morsel that the merchant wished to consume. Legolas closed his eyes. Whatever burgeoning hope he had for his survival at Estel’s bold words was soon lost, for the only feelings, the only emotions that the Elf felt were abhorrence at the vulgarity of what would be done to him and panic that the young Ranger would be forced to be the audience for the merchants’ foul plans.

Cort watched his fellow Adan’s spectacle, stroking his groin through the cloth of his trousers as Sven ran his dagger’s point down the bound Wood-Elf’s back. The Prince’s flesh parted beneath the sharp blade and a fine line of hoary red appeared where the blade had traced.

“Daro, uanui hû!” Aragorn shouted his frustration and ire, unaware that he was speaking in Sindarin and that the men were not likely to understand him.

“Quiet the Ranger, Cort,” Sven ordered in reply, then smiled at Legolas as he added, “He disturbs my enjoyment.”

Legolas could not see the cloth that was wound around his companion’s mouth but he heard the muffled sounds of Estel’s continued threats. Sven continued his blade work, moving the dagger down to the seams of the Elf’s leggings. When the first cut into the fabric was made and with the man’s hands so near to his clandestine flesh, the Elf gave himself to his weary numbness willingly, preferring the death of his soul to a reenactment of past events. Despair did not relieve him, though, of the sensation of the knife tearing into the flesh of his hip as Sven cut the seam out. The merchant moved his blade to the opposite side, doing the same to his other leg, until the Elf bore two identical cuts on each hip and the cloth of his leggings was destroyed from waist to knee on both sides.

 _You have lived through this once,_ he told himself, _and you must live through it again. Do not be a coward by dying – do not leave Estel alone with these men._

Forcefully tearing the remainder of the cloth from the Elf’s body, Sven moaned in pleasure at the sight of the bleeding, naked Elf before him. Only the Silvan’s doeskin boots remained. “You are very pleasing.” Leaning in to Legolas to whisper, he told the Prince, “I had never had a male before you, much less an Elf. But you are so pretty. Like a maiden,” he told the laegel as he ran his blade slowly down his captive’s back, relishing in the tremble that the Elf sought so hard to hide. When he reached the cleft of Legolas’ rear, the merchant did not stop, but slid his blade between the spread globes of the Elf’s rear, the tip of the blade only caressing the inner flesh of one globe. He did not cut the Prince’s delicate flesh, but the threat of such action was implicit in his deed. Legolas refused to voice any protest or plea, choosing instead to flee within himself, to pretend that the men were not here, that he was not tied to a tree, and that Estel was not witness as the humans prepared to defile him.

 _Not now_ , he thought woefully. _Not while Estel watches._ He would have gone with them gladly, given himself over to perpetual torment with no complaint – and still would – if only they would release Estel to spare him from having to watch this.

Without further molestation, Sven unlaced his trousers to pull out his ready shaft. The Ranger continued his incomprehensible objections and if anything, they grew louder. “If we were not hurried, we would take the time with you that we could afford before. Today, though, we’ve much to do besides pleasure ourselves with you, my pretty whore. Do not fret if we must make this quick.”

Legolas readied himself mentally for the pain that was sure to follow that statement. _At least it won’t be like last time_ , the Elf concluded in what he realized came dangerously close to hope. _At least they will kill me soon after they are done._ He railed against his own despair, for if he merely let them kill him, he would not be aware enough to aid Estel should the chance arise.

Cort’s voice interrupted the Prince’s concentration on convincing himself that he was not there for the oncoming excruciation. The younger merchant protested cheerfully, “Good gods, man, will you not hurry? I will sooner find satisfaction from a hole in the ground.”

The elder merchant laughed at this but did as he was bid and hurried to find his pleasure from Legolas. Positioning himself behind the Elf, the merchant spat in his hand and stroked himself to spread the spittle and the leaking seed from his shaft as a meager form of lubrication. He did this not out of any concern for the Elf’s well-being but of his own need to bury himself without hindrance as deeply as possible within the unwilling flesh before him. Again, the merchant spat, this time his spittle hitting the Elf’s back. With his fingers, the human scooped up the saliva and then slathered it between the Wood-Elf’s spread rear. Legolas fought the urge to pule when he felt the human’s shaft at his opening. With his hand flattened, the man struck the Elf’s arse violently, the lash causing Legolas to shimmy against his bonds in startled pain, therefore causing Sven’s member to brush against the Silvan’s entrance. Another thrilled moan escaped the man’s throat.

“Tell me that you want me, whore. Beg me.” Legolas would do no such thing; that is, until at Sven’s command Cort’s blade met the Ranger’s neck, grazing across the human’s flesh in warning. He laughed in the Prince’s ear, his breath hot and putridly smelling of sour wine as he ordered, “Tell me or Cort will slit your Ranger’s throat.”

“Please,” the Elf managed to whisper into the bark under his face. The tree was fouled by the lingering darkness of the Necromancer, as many were in the Mirkwood forest, but he could still hear the tainted lifesong of the tree. The tree sang happily about how the attached Wood-Elf was soon to be tormented to death.

“Please what?” the foul merchant asked him pitilessly.

Aragorn inhaled nearly inaudibly from the discomfort of the knife as it pressed into his neck, and though Legolas knew that the Ranger would rather have his throat slit than have the proud Prince humiliated, the Wood-Elf whispered again, saying, “Please, I want you.”

He did not want Aragorn to hear his begging the human to defile him. _Whatever it takes for Estel to survive this._ He burned with shame. He could not bear the thought of losing what little respect the Ranger may have for him after this was over, should they live.

The merchant was not yet satisfied, though. Sven spat once more into his hand, lathered his thumb inside the spittle, and used the tip of it to tease the aperture between the Elf’s legs. Without warning, he rammed his slickened thumb inside the Prince, pushing his digit so far and hard inside the Silvan that the whole of Legolas’ weight suddenly rested upon the man’s hand and the finger lodged within him. Sven’s thumb was as far as it could go, where it squirmed as the merchant bounced the Elf upon his intruding digit.

With a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a concupiscent groan of longing, Sven ordered, “You want me to what, whore? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to take me, please,” the Elf said as quietly as he could, while hoping that the merchant would not prolong this abasement. He would not live to see its end if Sven continued in this manner.

Removing his thumb and then grabbing the Elf’s hips in his vicious grasp, the merchant raised the Prince in the air by them, temporarily relieving Legolas’ wrists of their burden, but also situating the laegel for the man’s first thrust. With his shaft at the starburst opening to the Elf’s body, Sven let the Elf’s hips go, impaling Legolas’ resisting flesh with the weight of the captive’s own body falling into the slack of its ropes. Sven grumbled his pleasure as his shaft was submerged in the Elf’s clenching opening. Legolas, however, cried out without abashment at the intense pain that overtook his awareness. The man’s girth spread him agonizingly open; his inability to refuse the man’s entrance into his most private place nearly crippled the Elf with anguish. Contracting of its own accord in an attempt to expel the painful incursion, his entrance felt afire with the torment of being forced to accept the human's shaft.

Not willing to let the Elf become accustomed to this, Sven raised the Silvan by his hips once again, dropping Legolas onto his manhood another time. As the laegel cried out in heart wrenching suffering, the merchant pulled back on the rope about the Elf’s neck before he began thrusting in earnest, choking the Prince’s following screams before they could be loosed to resound throughout the still forest. All of the powerless Elf’s attention was focused on the shaft violating him.

 _Námo, let me die, please_.

Each time the man lifted him, Legolas’ face and torso scraped against the rough bark of the tree he was tied to, lacerating his fair skin, his groin abrading the trunk until all the Elf knew was a rhythmic dance of agony that radiated from his skewered cavity to his bark-chafed nether regions to the scratching of his torso and face. Repeatedly, the pain flared through the fair Elf’s body until he resigned himself to his fate.

_Mayhap they are right. I cannot fight it._

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Aragorn watched with impassioned resolve to kill those responsible as his dearest friend was pierced repeatedly upon the merchant’s shaft, the Elf’s body shaking violently at the continued assault. As Sven raised Legolas by his bruising hold of the Elf's hips, only to drop him again onto his engorged member, Aragorn thought of a new way to kill the man, each one more violent than the one before. Legolas’ dolorous yelps and subsequent rope-choked moans were emblazoned upon Aragorn's mind. Should they live past today, the Ranger was sure he would never soon forget his feeling of helplessness at watching his most beloved friend being tortured so ruthlessly, all while he was unable to stop it from happening.

His fury grew with the look of resigned distress that his companion bore throughout the man’s torment of the Elf’s body. _He has already given in to despair. Please, Greenleaf, do not let them win._ His own part in his friend’s torture was not lost on him, for it was to save the Ranger’s life that Legolas had not fought for his freedom. The Prince could have fought both men and been free, had he been willing to risk Estel’s throat being slit in the process.

Aragorn viewed forlornly as the man clasped the Wood-Elf’s flesh in hand, widening his rear brutishly as he began to pound Legolas’ aperture until blood could be seen on both the man’s member and between the Elf’s legs. With a final, maniacal stab and a near scream of pleasure, the merchant spilled his seed into Legolas’ body. The Adan closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The Ranger opened his eyes, however, when he felt the blade leave his throat. Sven released his hold on the Elf casually, letting his torpid body fall into the trunk. Legolas’ head remained bowed, his forehead resting on the bark, his eyes sealed shut. Aragorn was frightened to note that the Elf was breathing erratically. His skin, from what the Ranger could see of it that wasn’t smeared in blood from the cuts Sven had made in removing Legolas' clothes, appeared ashy and dull. _He slides further into despair_. Aragorn sighed in his own misery; he could do nothing while tied to the tree.

Sven admired his handiwork for a moment until Cort interrupted, “Where did you put the pack? I’ve something I’d like to see.”

The older merchant grabbed Legolas’ torn shirt from the ground to use in wiping the blood and seed from his shaft before he laced his trousers. “It sits on the other side of the stream, just where I dropped it. Hurry, Cort, we need to get going soon. We've business to attend to and money to make.” He tossed the shirt back to the ground and ambled towards Aragorn while Cort fetched his satchel. The merchant rubbed at the lusty sweat on his face with the back of his sleeve.

“You are very lucky, Ranger, to have such a beautiful Elf as a pet,” the man taunted, while he squatted down next to Aragorn. “Thanks for sharing him.” Sven laughed cruelly, his face flushed with the stolen pleasure he had found while his smug smile was assured that the Ranger would not be able to retaliate against him for said pleasure. Aragorn felt quite sure that the two merchants, if that's all they truly were, would never let him or the Prince leave the dell alive; else, they were imprudent not to fear retribution – vengeance that the Ranger already planned in his mind.

While the Adan fumed in his forced silence, the merchant continued conversationally, “I am afraid Cort isn’t as polite as I am, though. He likes to play with his prey before he devours it. The last time we played with your Elf, Cort didn’t get to have his fun. We might be here for a little while.” The merchant leant back on his feet, seating himself beside Aragorn as if the two were friends sharing a fire. “But don’t worry. I won’t let him continue past nightfall,” the merchant said with more snide sniggers. “We’ve other places to be.”

The Ranger paid the man no further attention; instead, he focused on his silent companion who hung from the tree. _Past nightfall? Greenleaf will be dead of grief before then,_ he rued, for even now, Legolas was surely on the verge of cleaving his faer from rhaw and it was only midmorning. _But if they intend to torment him for hours, then please let him die. He should not be forced to endure such debasement,_ Estel prayed to anyone willing to listen, his heart pounding in outrage at his own perceivably disloyal thoughts. Even while hoping that the Prince would fade now should there be no chance for them to escape, he pled to Legolas, _Do not leave me. I will get you out of this, I swear_.

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Legolas could hear Sven talking to Cort. He heard footsteps as Cort left the campsite and Sven again talking. Comprehension was beyond him. All he knew was the feeling of the bark beneath his forehead; it was all he could bear to know. The tree under his flesh rejoiced in his pain. Reality intruded into his self-imposed cocoon, however, when he heard clearly Cort’s rejoinder upon his return.

“Cut the Ranger loose. I need him,” the younger merchant asked of his elder.

 _Will they not just take what they want from me and leave Estel alone?_ Legolas fought to revive his flagging cognizance because he feared his lack of attention would end up endangering Aragorn. _They will not leave until I am broken or dead_.

“We don’t have time for this. We need to get back to town before Kane gives up on us, man. Just have your pleasure and then we will leave.” Sven pled only halfheartedly with his co-conspirator, for truly he was interested to watch his friend’s perverse show.

Perhaps Cort saw this, as well, or perhaps he was not to be denied, for he argued, “Cut the Ranger loose. Tie him up over here, closer, like the Elf is.”

He had watched the young Adan grow from a boy into the man he was today. Legolas would do whatever it took to keep the human unharmed and healthy. He would gladly hand himself over to the merchants’ pleasure and willingly pay his life for Estel to be safe. And so, thinking that the merchants intended for Aragorn the same treatment that he had received, Legolas pled with no shame at all, “No, do not hurt the Ranger, please. I will do whatever you want. Leave him be.”

Cort walked to the Elf as Sven severed the bonds that restrained the Ranger’s tied hands to the tree. The merchant traced with his fingertips the cuts Sven had made on their captive’s hips, while with his fingernails he pried at the rents in the Silvan’s soft flesh. Taking his fingers in his mouth, the man licked the Elven blood that stained them with relish before he leant forward to whisper in the laegel’s ear, “I would like to see your Ranger bleed, Elfling. And you will do whatever I want or we will make him suffer, too.”

Legolas’ despondency returned tenfold. He would do anything to see that Estel remained unscathed but he wasn’t sure what more the men could want from him. They had taken his body, his dignity, and his hope. He soon found out what they intended when Cort produced a leather whip of tails, its ends tipped with sharp bits of stone.

Sven had moved the Ranger to the tree next to where the Elf was hung, though not without a struggle. Aragorn had tried to escape the merchant’s grasp for a brief moment but a dagger to Legolas’ throat once again ruined any chance at freedom. When Sven had the Ranger tied as the Elf was tied, though Aragorn stood on the ground rather than hanging by his wrists, Sven turned to Cort questioningly, “What will you do to the Ranger, Cort?”

“What will _you_ do to him, you mean.” Cort handed his fellow merchant the leather whip. “When I tell you to, give the Ranger a good lashing.”

“No, please.” Legolas was not beyond begging for his friend’s life. “What do you want from me? I will give it to you gladly.”

“Of course you will, Elfling, because if you don’t, the Ranger here gets another lash,” Cort reminded softly, while helping Sven remove Aragorn’s tunic and undershirt, cutting through the fabric just as they had Legolas’ clothing. Stepping back once done, Cort commanded, “Give him one now, Sven.”

Legolas closed his eyes, only hearing the crack of the whip as it fell through the air and onto the human’s exposed flesh. The Ranger did not make a sound. _I am sorry, Estel, that I could not keep you safe,_ the Wood-Elf lamented. The merchant cut the Silvan’s hands free; unable to maintain his weight on his overstretched legs, he fell to the ground in a heap.

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Aragorn did not fear the men hurting him. He could imagine nothing worse that they could do than making him watch what they were doing to Legolas. When the Wood-Elf fell to the forest floor, the Ranger could see the lacerations on the Silvan’s torso, face, and inner legs that the rough bark had made on his smooth skin. Legolas’ eyes were firmly shut as though he were trying hard to deny the events happening by not acknowledging their occurrence. He did not move from the ground; in fact, he did not move at all.

_He will die if that’s what it takes for me to live._

It was then that Cort stood over his captive, his hungry eyes taking in the Prince’s agony and despair, and said, “You will enjoy this, Elf, or the Ranger will pay.”

The Adan could not believe Cort’s demand on the prone Silvan. Sven still stood behind him, whip ready in hand. Aragorn watched in horror as Cort withdrew a glass phial of black liquid from his tunic pocket, broke the wax around the cork cap, and then leant over Legolas, who had yet to move or acknowledge that he had heard Cort’s stipulation for the Ranger’s survival.

“This will help you out, pretty Elfling, do not worry.” The young merchant’s voice sounded like an adult soothing a child. “I can tell you are enjoying yourself even now,” Cort snickered, “but I would much prefer to feel you squirm helplessly beneath me, begging me to take you harder and faster, knowing that your body wants what your heart does not.” The young human opened the Wood-Elf’s mouth, a twisted grin on his face as he poured the contents of the phial down the unresisting Elf’s throat.

Legolas began to choke. Instinctually, he turned his head to spit out the liquid only to have his nose and mouth covered by Cort, blocking the Prince from breathing. “Swallow, Elf, or Sven will let the Ranger taste his whip again.” Whether by accident or conscious thought, the Elf ingested the poison, his fair face drawn into a grimace of distaste and confusion.

“Too much, Cort. You’ve given him too much!” Sven left his place behind the Ranger and walked to where the young merchant straddled the Elf’s bare chest. “You’ll kill him before you even get him hard.”

“No, old man. He’s an Elf. He can take it.” Cort moved his hands over the Silvan’s chest, feeling the muscles under the pearlescent, cream skin. The human bent over to brush his lips against the bruised lips of his captive. “I am sure he can take much more, too. We saw for ourselves didn't we?” the young merchant alleged, referring to some event that Estel desperately wished he knew of, although he had a feeling that it was as bad if not worse as what the two merchants were perpetrating against the Prince now.

Sven snorted, although his eyes began to gleam with renewed lust. Aragorn observed angrily as the young merchant’s hands found the rosy points upon the Elf’s chest, pulling them with his fingers. Legolas still did not move and kept his eyes closed fast, but his lips parted and his breathing became heavy. _Whatever foul substance he has given Legolas, it will likely only increase his suffering, as his heart will not consent to what his body will_. The Ranger growled a menacing sound that erupted from the depths of his desire to kill the two humans before him.

“Quiet, Ranger. I told you, we may leave some for you to play with later.” Cort’s malicious reply was followed by Sven's boastful chuckles. The young merchant replaced his rough fingers with his mouth, moving between the velvety blossoms of pink on the Elf’s chest. He suckled on the Silvan’s taut flesh while nibbling it lightly. Legolas moaned softly, increasing Aragorn’s ire at the umbrage the men were forcing upon his beloved friend.

_Death is too good for these loathsome swine._

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The bright light of the sun filtered through Legolas’ closed lids, though he willed it to leave him. A gentle tug at his chest broke through the fog of despair in his mind, startling him into opening his eyes. On his thighs sat one of his tormenters, who was leaning down to tease his flesh with his mouth, while the other man stood over them, leering at the exhibition. _Who is moaning? Where is Estel?_ Looking about him dazedly, he noted that the Ranger was still tied to the tree and returned his gaze with obvious concern and horror. The moaning, he realized, was coming from himself. Cort ceased his efforts and grabbed the Elf’s head in his hands, which forced Legolas to face the human.

“Pay attention. I want your eyes on me.” Cort licked the Silvan’s quavering lips, enjoying the fear that sprung into the Elf’s features when Legolas caught himself moaning again. “Enjoy yourself. Don’t fight it.” The merchant laid his cheek against the Elf’s, whispering in his ear, “Does your Ranger friend know you for what you are, whore? Will he know you when you writhe under me, pleading with me to defile you?”

The sickening words the man spoke could not break the waves of pleasure that rode through the laegel’s form as the merchant began to suckle the tip of the Elf’s pointed ear. _Why does my body deceive me?_ Having missed the man’s drugging him during his engulfment in despair, Legolas lay in feeble bewilderment that the man elicited such responses from his body, while his mind tried to return to its desperate defense against the atrocities to which he was subject.

Again, the man whispered in the Elf’s ear, “What do you believe your friend will think of you when he sees you submitting to me so wantonly?” Legolas could only pant, his breath stolen by the sensation of the merchant’s hand caressing his nude flesh, fondling down his sides and over his hips. “You are ours, Elfling. Nothing more than a toy for us to please ourselves with.” These cruel words struck true in the Elf’s heart, for he had oft thought of himself as nothing after his first episode with the squalid humans.

The Elf dared not look at Aragorn. _He will see it. He will know_. Legolas’ body jerked as Cort sat up, grabbing the Elf’s nipples in his hand and squeezing them. Despite the torment, he could barely stifle another groan of gratification, his body betraying him as his mind tried to flee. Legolas’ back arched as the man pulled his flesh harshly upwards, stretching the tender skin painfully. He bit down on his tongue, willing himself to be mute. As he was unaware of the poison racing through his body, he was also unaware that Aragorn knew the Elf’s reactions were not his own. _I will not enjoy this. Estel will not see this shame._

He heard Sven tell the younger merchant, “I don’t think we’ll need this whip, Cort. Why don’t I join you?”

The young merchant stopped to glower at his elder, not wanting to share his turn to torment the Elf. Despite having been the one to rush the older man, he argued, “You shouldn’t have hurried your turn. I suppose you may join in; however, I get first go at him.”

Promptly, Sven dropped the whip and then dropped to his knees beside the Elf’s head. “No worries. You take care of your end and I’ll take care of mine.”

Both humans guffawed sinisterly. While neither merchant truly cared if the Prince enjoyed himself, their torment of his mind required their attention to his body; and so, what might have only caused pleasure to the Elf was made as painful as possible, as well. Sven began licking and biting Legolas’ sensitive ears and rolling the tight buds of the Elf’s nipples between his fingers. Cort scooted farther down Legolas’ stationary form until he squatted betwixt the Elf’s spread legs. The Silvan’s hands were bound and laid uselessly above his head.

“I believe you got the short end of the stick, Sven,” Cort joked as he admired the length and girth of Legolas’ shaft.

Taking it in his hand, he stroked the Silvan’s flaccid member from base to head. The Elf simpered, unable to suppress it any longer when he felt the man touch him. His over-sensitized skin and uninhibited body caused his breath to quicken with both the pleasure he was experiencing and the humiliation of it. Noticing the Elf’s reaction, Cort tightened his grip, encasing the stiffening length within his fist as he stroked the Prince’s unwilling flesh. Sven’s attention left Legolas’ pointed ear; instead, he trailed his tongue down the Elf’s neck, where the length of cord was still wound and the blood was congealing from the wounds incurred by the knife and the rope burns made there. They would have consumed the laegel's flesh had it brought them more pleasure and Legolas more pain.

The Prince found he could not control his body. He wanted to close his legs, to beat the man beside him with his hands, or at least to deny the sensual excitement that coursed through him with the dual onslaught of the merchants’ handling. His breath catching into another loud groan, Legolas heard the muffled threats of the Ranger.

_What will Estel think of me after this?_

The Elf knew there might not be anything after this for him, for even as his body responded to the vile touches of the men around him, his mind sunk deeper into despondency.

Such was Legolas’ desire to flee his body that he tried to focus on anything other than what was happening to him. Sven continued to lap the Elf’s flesh until he claimed Legolas’ mouth, holding his jaw open whilst plundering the cavity. Cort continued his ministrations on the Elf's rising shaft, rubbing the soft foreskin of its head, slipping his thumb across the slit. Legolas could focus on nothing else but these sensations, his mind trying to lose awareness but his body remaining avidly to imbibe the pleasure the men’s hands and mouths offered.

Sven released Legolas’ mouth, giving their captive a chance to breathe before moving on to tease the Elf’s nipples with flicks of his tongue. With experienced movements, Cort took the head of the Silvan’s shaft in his mouth, running his teeth lightly around it before closing his lips and pulling in his cheeks to create suction around the sensitive top. Legolas sobbed gutturally in rapture, his hips lifting from the ground slightly to push his member farther into the man’s mouth. Cort sustained his suckling while reaching under the Elf’s hardened shaft to the tight sacs beneath, cupping them in his hand with a tight hold. Despite the pain that they caused him – or to the Elf's befuddled thinking, because of the pain that they caused him – Legolas felt his body quickening towards release.

He could not think clearly. All he knew was the feeling that the men invoked in his abused body – whether he desired it or not. Sven sat back on his haunches to watch as Cort increased his mouthful and tempo, and took the Silvan’s shaft farther between his lips. Cort nipped and grazed the Wood-Elf’s shaft with his teeth, scoring it in rings of bite-marks and reddened scrapes until he finally broke the skin around its cap. At the taste of the Prince’s blood, the younger merchant began to stroke himself eagerly through the cloth of his trousers, his desire coming to a head when the laegel moaned in pleased, fearful pain.

The young merchant sat back on his heels, but not before whispering to the Wood-Elf with a chortle, “I’m glad you got away last time. You wouldn’t be nearly as much fun dead. Or gelded.” He licked his lips and gave Legolas a smile that showed teeth stained with blood drawn from the Elf’s abraded shaft, which the merchant then took in hand to squeeze punitively.

Eventually, Sven interrupted him, ready to move on. “Come on and give him a go already. As much as I’d like to play all day, there’s money to be made.”

Cort obliged and released his hold on Legolas, who gasped at the sudden loss of feeling, agonizing though it had been. The young human placed his index finger at the aperture of the Elf’s body, stabbing the silky skin roughly, as he pierced the maltreated opening. Legolas only groaned again, his desire overcoming his shame until he could consider nothing but what his body experienced. The unpleasantness of the entry registered only in the back of the Elf’s mind.

The merchant added another finger to the first, causing both he and the Elf to sigh in delight. “He’s tight as he was before.” In some part of the Prince’s mind, he understood the words and knew his body’s treachery, but that part was quelled and did not surface through his yearning to have the man breach him so, to hurt him so. That part had left him in despair because it could not accept the delectation his body found in the hateful humans’ company.

“I think he’s ready, Sven.”

Cort did not prepare the Elf further; he intended for the Prince to experience his forced orgasm through whatever agony that the two men could inflict upon him. He sought not to break only the laegel’s body but his spirit, as well. Cort grabbed Legolas’ hips, his legs still bound around the tree and the ropes slack with the Elf’s knees bent, and flipped him over in one swoop. The Wood-Elf abruptly found himself on his stomach.

“On your knees, Elfling,” Sven demanded, hefting Legolas up by his shoulders until Cort caught him by the hips again, drawing the Elf’s rear backwards towards him.

The Prince was kneeling with the young merchant latched onto his waist, pressing Legolas’ torso down so that his face was on the ground with his rear spread and angled for Cort to take him. With a grin of admiration, Cort unlaced his trousers, revealing his own ready shaft. He did not hesitate before he stretched their captive’s flesh, placed the head of his massive member at the trembling Elf’s tortured fissure, and aimed his thrust to hit the receptive swell within Legolas’ body that would bring the Silvan more unwanted pleasure. Cort rammed his long shaft into the Elf’s unwilling, but responding flesh.

Legolas’ reaction was instantaneous. Even as the pain raged through him at the invasion, he grunted his delight. The man was buried to the hilt inside him; his member extended the Elf’s resisting flesh. Cort grabbed Legolas’ hips again to use as handles to push the Wood-Elf forward and backward, impaling the Prince repeatedly with harsh, forceful stabs. Each thrust scraped Legolas’ face against the pine needle covered forest floor. Each thrust drove his consciousness of the situation further within himself, so that he felt as if he were observing himself bucking lasciviously against the man behind him, seeking to increase the agony and intrusion. Each thrust brought him closer to the white light that engulfed his being with fulfillment. He rutted like an animal, aware but not able to stop his body’s will.

The rope at his neck tightened, pulling the Elf’s head off the ground and forcing Legolas to support his torso’s weight on his bound hands. Sven held the cord inflexibly as he unlaced his trousers, pulling out of time with Cort’s thrusts such that as Legolas was pushed and pulled onto Cort’s cock behind him, the rope tightened about his neck. When the older merchant’s shaft was free, he knelt in front of Legolas’ face, yanking the rope to align the Elf for his satisfaction. While Cort continued to pound their captive from behind, Sven pushed his manhood inside the Elf’s mouth, choking Legolas as he thrust against the back of the Prince's throat.

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Aragorn could only watch in repulsion and loathing as the two merchants spitted Legolas from front and behind for their perverse escapade. The Ranger fought at the bonds that held his hands above his head, which he had been trying to sever against the rough bark of the tree with slow success. Blood ran freely down his arms, as the rope dug against his wrists, making the flesh there raw – he did not even notice, so great were his efforts. He saw that his friend was barely breathing but seemed to be nearing his climax – Cort had begun to stroke the Elf's shaft in time with the merchant's machinations.

Sven spilled his seed first, his shrill moan ending with several rushed plunges of his member into the Elf’s mouth. Cort followed a few minutes later while ramming his shaft into the Elf before him so hard that both man and Silvan fell to the forest’s floor. The Prince finished last a few moments later; moans of distress and degradation were wrenched from him as Cort stroked the Wood-Elf to completion in vigorous jerks. Aragorn’s rope had begun to fray against the rough bark of the tree and he worried the cord without care for the increasing damage to his own flesh until the rope broke free.

 _They will both die,_ the Ranger promised himself as he bent to remove the dagger in his boot to cut away the ropes at his feet. The two human merchants were turned away from him and too occupied in the afterglow of their destruction to notice that Estel had freed himself and was grabbing his sword, which lay not far from his reach. The Adan gave the merchants no warning of his oncoming vengeance. The singing arc of his broadsword made first contact with Sven’s neck, severing the merchant’s head completely before the man was aware of the peril. Cort, however, rushed to remove himself from the Elf’s body and stood to face Aragorn. The fierce animosity on the suddenly freed Ranger’s face caused the young merchant to stumble backwards, kicking and stamping on the Wood-Elf carelessly as he tried to escape, and then tripping over Legolas’ prone body to fall onto his ass upon the forest floor with his leggings twisted around his thighs.

“No,” Cort pled, “He’s just an Elf. You can get another one. Please.” The human scrambled back, his arrogance and conceit forgotten, but stopped when his feet jolted the head of his companion, whose face in death maintained a lustful sneer – an expression of the older man’s final thoughts in life that had inevitably led to his demise. Cort yelped in revulsion, his attention momentarily diverted from the approach of the Ranger.

 _Death is too good for him_. The incensed Adan did not wish to draw out the merchant’s end, especially since Legolas lay unmoving only a few feet away in obvious need of Aragorn’s attention, but he wished he could make real the fantasies he’d had for the merchant’s death – slow and torturous demises that he’d imagined while watching the two merchants debauch and degrade his Greenleaf. _Death is too easy a way out_.

“No, no, he’s naught but a whore, he’s nothing. Let me live, show mercy," the young merchant begged.

His offensive pleas only doubled the Ranger’s resolve. Although he wished to make the man undergo the agony Legolas had felt, a desire of which he never would have thought himself capable, Estel leapt over the older merchant’s body to reach Cort and quiet the tongue that dared speak ill of Legolas. Realizing his end was upon him, Cort threw himself forward past Aragorn with the intent of reaching Legolas for leverage against the Ranger, but Estel was quicker. He thrust his sword through the man’s back, not caring that the human was unarmed, before Cort could touch Legolas again. When Cort pitched to the ground face first, the Ranger shoved his broadsword harder, just in case the merchant was not yet dead, and thus pinned the young human to the ground.

“You showed my friend no mercy, why would I show you any?” he murmured, not caring if Cort still lived to hear his answer. Aragorn left the man as he was and did not mind if the young Adan suffered during his last breaths.

At once, he went to the laegel. The Ranger cut the cords that held the Elf’s legs to the tree. Turning, the human dropped softly to his knee behind the Prince, noting the trembling that wracked his friend’s body. “Legolas...” Estel started, placing his hand on the Elf’s bare shoulder, “Greenleaf...” The Ranger did not know what to say.

Carefully pulling the bloodied Elf towards him, Aragorn rolled his friend onto his back and was startled by the sight of the Elf’s weeping but closed eyes. The Ranger worried, _He appears unconscious and yet he weeps. He slips into grief._ Estel was unsure of what to do for the Silvan. _I am ill equipped to deal with Elven grief._ Knowing his friend, however, and having seen for himself the nature of the Elf’s wounds, Aragorn scooped his companion into his arms, stopped briefly to pick up his pack and the Silvan’s cloak, before he carried the laegel’s lithe form through the twisted trees of Mirkwood to the pool where just the day before Legolas had taken ease.

Without his shirt, Aragorn could feel smearing across his pounding chest the slippery blood that painted the Elf. The Prince’s own torso heaved in labored, short, and mistimed breaths, while his entire body shimmied with the exertion of merely living. Aragorn wished he could wrap his friend in his arms, sit upon the forest floor, and weep along with the Prince. _Greenleaf needs me. Greenleaf needs me_ , the healer repeated to himself as a way to calm his emotions and keep his composure.

The pool’s water was cool upon the Ranger’s flesh when he stepped in. _I hope this is not too cold for him._ Aragorn squatted down, allowing the Elf’s light body to float face up in the water, while he held his friend’s head tenderly above the surface with one hand. From this perspective, the Ranger could see most of the damage perpetrated against the Prince. Reddened abrasions and bruises covered Legolas’ fair chest, thighs, and nether regions, while shallow knife wounds peppered his body from the removal of his clothing by the vile merchants. The rope that had been looped around his neck and wrists left their own bruises and bleeding scrapes. Between the Elf’s legs, the rippling water lapped away blood and spent seed.

“Ai Ilúvatar, I am sorry, Greenleaf.” Aragorn ran his hands gently over the laegel’s tremulous, milky flesh, cupping the water to wash away the foulness of the men, while certain his friend would appreciate the action even though he was not aware of it, for Legolas loved water and cleanliness as much as he loved the trees in the forest and the stars in the sky.

When he was satisfied that all traces of the men’s deeds were removed, Aragorn struggled to hold Legolas while spreading the Elf’s cloak on the ground on which to lay him. He pulled his satchel to him, dumped it onto the ground to find better what he required, and chose first a tin of unguent that would help the Prince’s lacerated skin to heal. With the Wood-Elf's wounds as cleaned as possible now, Aragorn set about spreading salve over the cuts and bruises, careful not to wake the Elf out of fear of Legolas’ reaction to being touched after his abuse. Although the Ranger did not detect it, silent tears leaked from his eyes, down his cheeks, and splashed onto the Prince. He tried to think only of aiding the Elf, to pretend that it was not his closest friend outside his Elven foster brothers who was lying on the ground before him, but his whole being was focused on Legolas’ plight.

When the Ranger had finished tending the Elf’s wounds, he wrapped Legolas in his cloak and drew the Silvan’s inert body to him. He tried not to aggravate the Wood-Elf’s wounds but longed to hold him, to comfort him, to bring him back. “I love you, Greenleaf. Do not leave me, my friend.” Shamelessly, Estel wept while singing softly in a broken voice filled with the overwhelming desire to see the Elf’s blue eyes shine with joy and carefree mischief again.

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The sensation of the cool water on his skin had broken through the Elf’s grief stricken mind, his body registering the familiar feeling of being clean. He knew then that Estel had held him, for the Adan understood the Prince’s need to be unsoiled. _I will never be clean again. Forever will the memories haunt me._ Legolas felt Aragorn’s hands moving over him. He wanted to draw away but could not. _Why does he bother? I am as they say; I am nothing. I do not even deserve his consolation. I am naught but a whore to their desires, though they may lie dead._

He grieved bitterly for Aragorn. He was more concerned with the effect his death would have on the Ranger than any effects on himself. When he heard the human beseeching him to stay and not to leave him, Legolas decided to comply. _I will remain for Estel, though I do not deserve such devotion or his love._ The Elf slipped into a healing sleep, his determination to keep his promise to live, if only for Estel, solidifying his mind’s longing to quit its pondering and enjoy the temporary alleviation from his torment.


	6. Chapter 6

Legolas awoke to the night sounds of the forest around him and was puzzled about where he was and why he was there. The moon hung overhead – a pale sliver of its usual majesty, much like the Elf that lay beneath it. A throbbing ache between the Elf’s legs reminded him of the day’s events, much to his humiliated dismay. He did not see Estel, though he knew the noble man would not have left him in the forest alone, so assumed that the Ranger must be nearby. Vaguely, for the memories were filtered through the haze of grief he’d been consumed by at the time, the Wood-Elf recalled that the Ranger had washed him, treated his wounds, and then held him while he wept.

 _I have failed him. I did not want him to see_.

Overwhelmed by his guilt, the Elf sighed deeply, his muddled thoughts bombarding him with images and interpretations he would rather forget. _Why would I have found pleasure in what those humans forced on me if what they said was not true? I must be as they say. I must be nothing. I am a whore. I am not worth Estel’s friendship. I am no Prince. I am nothing. I am a whore._ Legolas’ litany of self-recrimination elicited a muffled sob from his lips and sour tears began to pour from his eyes.

“Greenleaf?”

The Elf turned his head to see Estel ambling towards him from between the trees with an armful of firewood. When the Ranger saw that the Silvan was wakeful and weeping, he hastily deposited his burden and rushed to Legolas, dropping down close to him. “Are you well?” The human must have become conscious of the idiocy of such a question for he grimaced and apologized, saying, “I’m sorry. Of course, you are not well. Are you in need? Are you in pain? I am sure I can find...”

Legolas interrupted, his voice shaky, “No, Estel, I am fine.” They both knew the statement for the lie it was. The Elf was not fine and he may never be again. Clearing his throat, the Prince added, “I am sorry. I am sorry you had to witness such depravities and that I could not keep you from harm.”

Aragorn only sat mutely for a moment, his kind face holding an expression of disbelief. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. This is not your fault.”

“It is my fault. If I had been paying attention this morning...” Trailing off, the Wood-Elf stifled another sob, now ashamed even more of his inability to control his emotions. He tried to sit but the agony of his ill-treatment rushed over him – he fell back to the bedroll. The look of pity that Aragorn gave him turned his stomach with the indignity he felt for being the cause of his own pain – at least in part. The memory of his licentious, lustful participation in his own defilement twisted the Elf’s thoughts, driving him to engendering the merchants’ perceptions of him and thus accepting the agony he felt from their actions as his due punishment for being so sordid.

_It is only right that I should be tormented so. It is what I deserve._

A hand on his arm broke Legolas from his remorseful stupor. “Greenleaf?” Aragorn’s anxious countenance only strengthened the Elf’s belief in his culpability for the entire situation.

 _Estel has been hurt by so little as just being near me_ , he thought, but aloud he said, “It is nothing. I am fine.”

The Ranger obviously did not believe him and replied, “You have slept the day. I have not checked your wounds for several hours because I did not want to wake you.” Aragorn leapt up to retrieve his bag and thus missed the look of terror that crossed the Elf’s face at the thought of being attended to by the human. His bag in hand, the Adan again knelt beside his companion, searching through the knapsack for the supplies he needed.

“I am fine.” Although the Elf tried to bolster his lie with a tone of confidence, his voice faltered when Aragorn bent over him, reaching for the hem of the cloak that covered the Elf’s otherwise nude body. “Don’t,” he whispered unknowingly.

Estel halted and withdrew his hand, the sting of his friend’s apprehension of him reflected in his features, but he seemed to take no offense and reassured the Prince, “I would never hurt you. You are my friend, Greenleaf, and I love you. You have nothing to fear from me.”

The Ranger’s plea did not soothe Legolas’ panic but the Elf fought to control his reaction, as he did not want to cause Estel any more worry. _Do not act the fool,_ he chastised himself. _You prove the merchants right by being so weak and frightened._

“I am sorry.” Legolas tugged at the cloak’s hem himself, suddenly determined to show that he could overcome his helpless terror. He pulled the cloth over his chest, stopping when the cloak reached his waist.

Aragorn smiled for a fleeting, sad moment, for he was relieved to see that the Elf would not refuse treatment but knew that the Prince was not over his panic and would not be for some time – if ever. Still, he tried to encourage the Silvan, saying, “I knew you would not let them win. Do not let their actions turn you against those whom you love, Greenleaf. Your courage is greater than their vile deeds.”

_Now I am a liar, also. He believes I do this from courage when I do this for him._

The small fire across the clearing highlighted the man’s dark hair and matching stubble, both of which were lightly peppered with grey, while the hoary moonlight seemed to enhance the silver of his eyes. From the time that the Adan was just a boy, Legolas had adored the human with the same brotherly love he had for the Noldorin twins, but that love had changed as the child grew into a man. The Prince had no concept of what he felt for the human, for he’d never felt it about another person before, but seeing that the Ranger was hale, his body unharmed, and his handsome features unmarred by pain, the Prince closed his eyes. If the human had been hurt or killed, the Wood-Elf would have found no purpose in continuing his life.

_If he is well, then all the agony was worth it. In the end, Estel may have saved his own life, but at least I was able to distract the merchants while he got free, regardless of what injury I have incurred. It was all worth it to know that he is safe._

With the perfunctory, disinterested motions of a healer, Aragorn spread salve over the Elf’s svelte chest and continued, “None of these cuts or bruises has done much damage. You will be better soon.”

_I will never be well again._

Legolas tried to smile in appreciation of the good news his human companion bestowed upon him, but the sensation of the man’s hands moving over his chest stirred a long held want within the Prince; a longing that he now believed to be perverted by his submitting to the merchants’ debauchery. Often before he had felt the same when the Ranger touched him, but he’d never been able to place the need that he’d felt for he’d never had a lover or been touched in a carnal way until his attack by the merchants – or at least, he’d never realized it was sensual desire that he felt for Estel. Having felt desire and lust now, even though it had been forced upon him through poison, the Wood-Elf could now name the feelings he’d been having for the Ranger the past few years. It frightened him to no end.

_Will I now lust after my own friend? Do I wish him to take me as they did? I am nothing._

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The Ranger ceased his movements over the cuts and abrasions of the Elf’s torso when he saw the despondent visage that his companion bore. In the firelight, the Silvan’s pale flesh had turned a ghoulish orange, as it seemed to reflect the color of the flames. “Greenleaf?”

The Prince’s stricken and weary face focused its attention on the Ranger. _I need to get him to Imladris. I know nothing of treating Elven grief._

Unaware that his friend blamed himself for his reaction to the merchants’ handling after being administered the poison, Aragorn only queried, “You need rest. I can give you a sleeping draught, if you wish?”

The Ranger expected the Silvan to refuse his offer, but much to his puzzlement the Elf replied, “Thank you, Estel.”

 _Never before has he been so willing to be drugged. He must be suffering much more than he lets on._ Silently, Aragorn prepared the mixture from the small store of herbs that he tried not to travel without, while pondering the implications of the horrifying experience the Elf had undergone in the last day. _I do not wish to push him into talking to me and yet I know that this suffering will fester unless he releases it. He needs my father or the twins to whom to talk. I can do little for him and since he was unwilling to tell me of the first time, he may not trust me to speak to of the second, either._

They remained silent. Estel could find nothing to say that did not sound trite and pitying, while the Wood-Elf held his tongue because he did not wish to speak of and relive the days’ events. The human completed his task quickly; the brew made from the dry herbs was barely hot but he did not strain the pulp, leaving it for the Wood-Elf to ingest along with the liquid. Legolas accepted the foul-smelling concoction most willingly, adding to the Ranger’s worry at the Prince's easy compliance. _At least I will be able to tend his wounds properly should he be deeply asleep._ Sighing in the heavy resignation that settled over his heart, Aragorn waited beside his Elven companion, knowing that he would not sleep the night but glad to do it so that he could keep watch over the Prince. He absently took stock of their possessions, planning for their journey onwards at the soonest moment possible, and waited for the quiet Elf to sleep.

It did not take long. Elves healed best – body, mind, and soul – whilst asleep, and so Legolas’ rhaw and faer sought the slumber needed to mend them. The medicines were merely a facilitator. They would also serve to keep Legolas asleep such that Estel could tend the Elf more freely.

_I would not want him to wake during this. He would think I was one of the merchants. His faer is fragile enough as it is._

When the Silvan had given in to the draught and sorrow such that Legolas’ breathing was one of full ease, he set about his task. The Ranger drew the cloak back down the Elf's body so that he lay naked and vulnerable before the human. The shallow cuts that were scattered over the laegel’s leanly muscled, alabaster flesh were already closing, thanks to the Prince’s hardy Elven body and quick healing. Aragorn was pleased to observe that the raw burns from the ropes that had surrounded the delicate skin of Legolas’ throat and wrists remained but had improved from that morning. Abrasions on and between his legs were beginning to mend, also, as were the scrapes from the tree bark. All the bruises had begun to fade, as well, making the Elf appear as though he were only suffering from having been tied, rather than tied, beaten, and despoilt.

 _The damage lies under his skin, I fear_. The Ranger slid his fingertips over the odd scar that marred the Elf’s thigh, feeling the raised edges of the disfigurement while he pondered as to why it had not healed. _Mayhap it is his grief from his first encounter with the merchants. Mayhap they gave it to him._ Aragorn had not thought of this possibility, much less the conditions under which the Elf had first met the merchants. He had spent the hours since their being attacked watching over his friend with loving trepidation, while trying to avoid the thoughts of why and what. _I cannot imagine why anyone would want to hurt Greenleaf._

Slathering more unguent over the cuts on the Elf’s legs, Aragorn wondered at the depths of courage it had taken for his Elven friend to bare himself. When he had tried to tend the Elf, the Ranger had noted the outright terror that Legolas exuded, despite his attempts to hide it. _I know it was not me that he feared and yet he pulled away as though I might hurt him. I suppose I should be glad that he did not react poorly. He could have tried to bury a dagger in my throat or break my neck, as some might have done to be handled so soon after being misused so thoroughly._

Turning his attention back to treating the Elf, Aragorn inspected first the bite-marks and abrasions that Cort had made to the Prince’s shaft, all of which were already fading, as were the other bruises and small wounds. That done, he checked to see that Legolas was still deep in sleep ere he pushed askance the Elf’s legs. Cautiously, the Ranger spread the globes of Legolas’ rear to assess the aperture to the Elf’s body. This morning he had not been able to force himself to do so, but over the course of the day, he had several times noted that the Prince’s body wept bled from this area. The violence with which he’d been despoilt had caused his innermost flesh to become abraded. _He still bleeds but at least it slows,_ the healer noted. Again, Aragorn prayed to Eru that the Wood-Elf would not awake, for he did not want Legolas to rouse to find the Ranger touching his private flesh, even though the Adan did it only to tend his wounds.

_He needs a better healer than I am._

Estel sighed and looked to Legolas, who suddenly appeared much paler and more distressed than he had moments before.

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 _The pain in Legolas’ head pulsated with each beat of his heart._ Where am I? _A part of the Elf knew just where he was and what was about to occur._ This has happened before. I must be dreaming.

 _Opening his closed eyes, the_ _Elf found he was naked, strapped to a large, empty wine barrel, his legs and arms spread about the drum as though he were hugging it, although his navel and lower body were hanging off the edge of the barrel such that his uncomfortably spread rear stuck out, for his ankles were tied to the metal hoop at the barrel’s end. The room was dim with no windows, but light crept through the door that led into the front of the store. The smell of wine was overwhelmingly strong._ I am in the backroom of Kane’s store. _He looked about him as well as his constrictions would allow, recognizing his surroundings._ No, they are dead. Estel killed them. This is not real.

“ _That’s a beautiful sight, it is,” a horribly memorable voice stated, crudely adding, “I bet he hasn’t ever been fucked before.”_

_Sven could not really have known it but Legolas had never had a lover, male or female. Being as young in Elven years as he was, it was not at all uncommon at his age to be so. Often, the warrior Elves of Eryn Galen did not take lovers until they reached a high rank and thus became more advisor than warrior. The Silvan in the Eryn Galen patrol dispensed with the distracting ideas of love and lust, postponing marriage and children until later years when their high rank allowed them the luxury to raise a family without the constant, dangerous deployment to the borders or equally perilous task of hunting down Orcs and spiders._

“ _He looks tight.” Kane’s voice reached the Elf’s ears, echoing the words the shopkeeper had said to him several weeks ago._

Please, let me wake up. Elbereth, please, let me awaken.

_Cort’s immature but cruel voice tempted the shopkeeper. “Find out already, before he’s missed by the other Elves.”_

_Legolas could feel the man’s hands running over his hips, across his rear, and down his thighs, fondling the skin that quivered beneath his vile touch. Although he knew what was to come and that he had already lived through the experience, the Elf could not stop the panic that rose in his throat, the bile choking him._ No, please, not this way. _Had not the Elf been gagged thoroughly to prevent his alerting the shop’s neighbors of the happenings in the store, Legolas would have cried the words he could only think. Kane ran his finger down the Elf’s back and between the cleft of his rear until he reached the orifice he sought. The human penetrated the tight opening to the_ _Elf’s body with one thick finger, stabbing the clasping aperture careless of the pain it may cause._

_“I’ve always hated Elves. Thranduil and his folk dangle their riches over Lake-town like a mean child dangles a bone in front of a hungry mutt,” Kane explained to the other two merchants who worked for him, both of whom apparently had never seen an Elf before today. The Prince, at the time, could not imagine why the shopkeeper or his friends wanted to torment him. He had truly only come into Kane’s store for pipe-weed and had been polite the whole time. But as he had listened then and as he remembered now, the_ _Elf knew that Kane and his putrid friends planned to torture him for the mere pleasure of it, no matter what reasons they touted. Some beings needed no good reason to cause suffering when doing so brought them such enjoyment._

_Kane added another finger to the first and then a third, twisting and bending them inside the Prince’s dry aperture. The_ _Elf had never been touched in such a way before and being prodded by Kane had nearly caused him to retch. Suddenly, the man’s digits were pulled out of him only to be replaced by the head of the shopkeeper’s oversized shaft pressing against his opening. “You should have been more polite, Elfling. I will teach you to mind your manners, whore.”_

_With these words, Legolas knew nothing but the stinging sensation of the man’s long, thick member jabbing into his body. Through the cloth wedged inside his mouth, the Elf screamed. Legolas’ awareness became concentrated on the agony of the man’s shaft trying to penetrate his opposing flesh. He had not been prepared to accept the merchant’s cock, but Kane seemed to enjoy the endeavor all the more for it. As if trying to fit a large foot inside a shoe too small, the human tugged harshly with his fingers at the flesh around the Prince’s opening, pulling it this way and that until he had the head of his shaft inside the Elf’s orifice. Just this small portion of the merchant’s manhood violating his untried body caused the Wood-Elf enough agony that his vision grew dark and his chest heaved. Having no personal knowledge of sex between males, he knew not how to alleviate his pain, and pushed his internal muscles against the intrusion, seeking to expel the man from his body._

_His pitiful attempts to remove the merchant from his opening caused Kane to groan as Legolas’ inner muscles squeezed the man’s shaft, for unknowingly, the Elf was bringing the merchant greater pleasure while increasing the damage done to his own internal flesh. Kane pressed forward in short, violent bursts. The human’s unremitting driving threw the captive Wood-Elf into a state of absolute misery. Soon enough, though, Legolas’ opening began to tear and bleed, allowing Kane the room and the lubrication to begin his thrusting in earnest. The first time that the merchant pulled completely free of him, Legolas shamelessly shrieked through the muffling gag in utmost anguish, only to realize that his agony was only beginning – Kane slammed his cock back inside the Wood-Elf, withdrew, and then slammed it inside again. Each time, the merchant fit more of his shaft within the Elf, until eventually the Prince was breathless from his stifled screaming and the merchant was housed inside him so far that Kane’s massive belly was resting against the top of the Wood-Elf’s rear._

_When the agony caused the Wood-Elf to waver in consciousness, Kane seized the Silvan by his long, flaxen hair, pulling the Prince’s neck backwards sadistically. “Stay alert, whore. I would not wish to have to drug you into staying conscious.” The human pounded into the Elf beneath him, each driving irruption further tearing the once unused, innocent chamber of his captive._

No more, please. Let me wake.

_Kane had lasted what seemed forever, but eventually he released his searing seed deep inside the Elf. Sven had laid claim upon the Prince next, not even speaking as he roughly entered the laegel with a mighty shove. Legolas screamed again at the invasion. Sven remained quiet until he neared his climax – once his pleasure took hold of him, he began to berate the Woodland Prince, whispering loudly to him, “A filthy, disgusting animal, just like all your kind.” Sven’s own words seemed to bring the merchant to greater heights of gratification while the veracity of his vindictive inveighing solidified Legolas’ worthlessness in his mind. “Nothing,” he called the Prince. “Nothing but a pretty Elfling whore. This is all you are good for.”_

_Legolas’ abused body grated against the coarse surface of the barrel to which he was attached, his hips and legs were covered in empurpling mars that would grow to be vicious bruises in the shapes of hands and fingers. No pretense was given for his rape; the men took him because they could, because he was there._

Because I am their whore, _he thought as the memories replayed in his mind._ Because I am nothing.

_Once Sven had finished, spilling his seed across the Wood-Elf’s back and rear, Cort was primed for his own turn. He began his pleasure by yanking the Elf’s hips back and forth, grinding the_ _Elf’s body against its binds and the barrel, until he finally breached the Elf with a vicious stab that again had Legolas crying out. By then, his body was no longer opposing the truculent intrusion while his mind remained adamantly vacant of what was occurring._

Why can I not awake? Please, Estel, wake me. No more of this. Please.

_The memory of his first defilement did not fade with his pleas; instead, his body ached as it did then, his mind reeled as it had, and the sensations he recalled in explicit detail as the young merchant depredated him relentlessly, using him as if he were nothing, as if he existed merely for the merchant’s pleasure. All the while, the Wood-Elf could do naught but flinch at every plunge, plagued with his own worthlessness._

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“Wake, Greenleaf, please.”

Aragorn had tried every way he could recall to wake the Elf before him, who writhed in some unknown misery that could be ameliorated, the Ranger thought, if he could only wake him. _Please do not tarry in your nightmares. Come back to me_. Guilt flooded the Adan’s spirit, for he knew that it was his draught that kept the Elf asleep in his horrendous recollections. He gathered the fading Elf within his arms, noting the tremulous breaths that his friend labored to inhale. _I am here for you, my friend, do not give in, please._


	7. Chapter 7

_When the men were through, they left him tied to the barrel in the back of Kane’s shop, bleeding and humiliated, his lower body covered in their vile liquids._

I am only dreaming.

_The Elf’s prayers went unheard; he pled to himself, to Aragorn, to the Valar, to Ilúvatar, or anyone who could wake him from the nightmare. He had only occasionally dreamt to this point._

I have to waken.

_Just as it had occurred those weeks ago, the three men returned laughing an hour or so later, a bottle of wine in each of their hands. “We’ve closed shop for you, Elfling. I need more time.” Kane drank deeply from his bottle, splashing the crimson liquor over his shirt._

_Cort broke in, “The Elves will miss it soon, you think? Why don’t we...”_

“ _The Elf is mine – at least until I am done with it. Then you and Sven will dispose of it. For now, why don’t you shut up, whelp?” Kane emphasized his point by throwing his now empty bottle across the room in the general direction of the young merchant. Not willing to invoke his employer’s ire any more, Cort dodged the flying object easily but maintained his silence. Turning to the bound, terrorized Elf, Kane ordered in a sudden flash of inspiration, “Sven, get another empty bottle.”_

_Sven drained his own wine and then passed the emptied container to the white-haired wine trader. Legolas remembered with clarion detail the pain that was about to come but could do nothing to stop it. His rapist twirled the bottle by its neck before he stalked to the end of the barrel where Legolas’ head lay on its side, his eyes open and seeing but unfocused._

Wake, Legolas, _he told himself. The Elf continued his nightmarish remembrance._

“ _Rubbish. That’s what you are, whore.” The shopkeeper held the bottle before the Elf's face, his miscreant glee, and drunken delight in the imprisoned Elf’s fear and agony obvious in his flushed, smirking face. “I think I know a new game we can play.”_

_When the memory had been reality, Legolas had been confused as to why a glass bottle should scare him anymore than what had already been forced upon him. Now, though, as he relived his terror, he was even more horrified at what was to happen. Kane held a lock of the trembling Elf’s mane in his hand, looping the whitish strand around his finger ere he pulled it taut. Wrenching the hair painfully, the shopkeeper leant in, his nasty breath brushing across the Prince’s pale face, saying, “I think we need to see how far you can stretch.”_

No, Estel, wake me, please. Please.

_The disgusting words were less noxious than the action the shopkeeper next performed. Moving behind the Elf, Kane smirked at the bloodied but arousing sight before him. He placed the neck of the bottle at the opening to the Prince’s passage, causing Legolas to tense, unaware, at the time, of what was to come._

Nienna, please. Take me.

_Gradually the merchant pushed the bottle inside Legolas’ abused orifice, eliciting an anguished cry from the Elf’s lips at the violation. The tapered neck of the bottle farther spread his innermost flesh, such that with each agonizingly slow movement, Kane extended his opening beyond even that which the men had earlier, beyond any normal stretch that his body would ever have made for any one Elf or man._

_Behind his gag, the Elf screamed._

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When Legolas screamed in absolute desperation and agony, Aragorn’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword out of instinct, his arms releasing his embrace on the Elf, whom he had been holding. As soon as he dropped the Prince, he caught him enough to keep the laegel’s head from hitting the ground though the rest of him tumbled to the forest floor. Aragorn seized Legolas in a tight grip as the Silvan’s excruciating scream ceased when Legolas had no air left with which to continue.

The Ranger had been on his way to check the merchant’s belongings, hoping that his previous oversight as to if the merchants had horses would aid him. He knew that Legolas’ nightmare drove him further into despair and that the grief would soon claim him if he did not deliver the Silvan to an Elven healer. Even then, the Elf’s life still might end from grief. And now, the Prince’s abrupt thrashing and shrieking panicked the Ranger such that he ran carelessly through the forest, across the small pool, and to the place where Sven and Cort had left their possessions when they had snuck through the woods to investigate the Prince and Ranger’s laughter the day before.

 _The Valar have not forsaken us, my friend_. The Ranger and Elf, who had been wandering without true destination, had been traveling on foot; the merchants, who had been about their business of moving goods, had not. Two suitable, albeit uncared for horses were attached to a merchandise-laden cart. Laying his panting and quivering companion on the ground for the moment, Aragorn readied the strongest looking of the steeds hastily, packing the most essential of his and Legolas’ belongings onto the mount. He then quickly unbound the other horse, also, so that it could fend for itself. Awkwardly, Estel pulled the Elf up with him while he seated the merchant’s horse, thankful that the Silvan was light. _Where will I go?_ Aragorn knew that Legolas would receive better treatment with his foster father, Lord Elrond, than in Mirkwood, but he also knew that the Silvan might prefer to be returned to his home. Moreover, Thranduil’s halls were a shorter trip than making for Imladris, but then, Thranduil was less likely to be as understanding of what had befallen the Prince than would Elrond. _Where are we going, my friend?_ Estel paused for only a moment longer, the fading Elf he held in his arms prompting him to spur the horse into action in the darkening forest.

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 _Kane had soon lost interest in inflicting pain on the Elf that he could not enjoy himself, and so had removed the bottle to replace the container with his member. Legolas’_ _excruciated_ _aperture easily accepted the man’s hard shaft, as he was slick with blood. Cort and Sven looked on in disgusting interest, fondling themselves in lust over the Wood-Elf's humiliation._

And why would they not? I am their whore. _The bitter words left a bitter taste in the Silvan’s mouth, although it could have been the blood that stained his lips from having bitten them to stifle yet another yelp of suffering._

_The shopkeeper was unsatisfied that his captive had stopped struggling and screaming. “Sven, untie the Elf.” The merchant complied, eager to touch the Elf in any way he could. Legolas’ legs were untied, then retied though not around the barrel. His bound hands were released but then retied behind his back. He lay on the hard dirt floor of the shop’s backroom, broken, and certain he would soon die. He no longer cared. If he died, at least he would no longer be subject to the whims of these cruel merchants or his own agreeable self-loathing._

“ _Care to join us, Sven?” Kane’s countenance was entirely wicked, his anticipation at the further destruction of the Elf making Legolas wish, even though he knew he only dreamt, that Ilúvatar would relieve him from his torment and send his weary soul to Mandos for safekeeping._

_The two humans hefted him from the floor, his head lolling from side to side in his grief-stricken stillness, as they positioned him for their gratification. Legolas’ mind replayed the next events in the backroom. Although the men had much more torture planned for him, a loud commotion at the front of the store stopped them. Someone was beating upon the door._

“ _Go see who it is, boy,” Kane ordered the young merchant while he and Sven dragged Legolas across the floor with their hands under his arms, where they then tossed him into a corner behind a tower of empty barrels. They covered him with a rough sheet of cloth to wait for Cort to return with news._

_The Prince’s despondency prevented him from caring what the merchants were talking about; he only knew the agony that disturbed his torn flesh when he moved his legs in the slightest. Cort walked back into the room._ _In a brief and lucid moment, Legolas remembered that he was dreaming and this had already happened – his despair lightened as his resolve returned._

Estel. He is waiting. I promised not to leave him.

“ _Kane!” The boy sounded scared, his immature voice a shrill whisper in the dark, dank space. “There are two Elves out front.” The Elf’s attention focused on the merchants as the boy’s statement cleared the fog from his mind._

“ _Damn it.” Although Legolas could not see the shopkeeper, he could imagine the man pulling his hands through his thin, white tufts of hair. “You two dress the Elf and slip him out the backdoor. Take him out to the woods. And make sure he knows what happens if he opens his pretty mouth along the way. I’ll throw the Elves off your trail to give you time to get rid of him.”_

_Kane’s footsteps drifted towards the front, where the sounds of knocking increased. Before, when Legolas had lived this nightmare, he had thought to contact the Elves in the front, knowing that they were the sentries he had left on the outskirts of town. They had known where he was going and how long it would take, and had come looking for him because of his tardiness. The thought of his sentries saving him from three humans, while he was covered in their seed and his own blood, his body wrecked from their lust, had caused Legolas to dither in humiliation. Before he could decide, the choice was taken from him. Sven pulled the cloth back down over Legolas, baring the Elf’s naked, bloodied body, the Elf’s own long knife in the merchant’s hand._

“ _You’ll live, Elfling, if you keep quiet,” Sven lied._

I am alive, though not for long if I do not leave this dark place. Estel waits.

_Cort unbound Legolas’ legs while Sven held the knife to the Elf’s throat, daring him to scream or attempt escape. The Prince did neither. The young merchant heaved Legolas’_ _trousers awkwardly over his legs, lifting the Elf’s immobile body to pull them over his hips. He fought the desire to cry out from the misery of the merchant tossing his legs carelessly about – the rough handling agitated his thoroughly misused nether regions. Legolas closed his eyes. Lacing the Silvan’s trousers quickly, Cort then rebound his feet._

_From the front of the store, the Silvan could hear the voices of his guards and his tormentor discussing his whereabouts. Although the words were muffled by Cort’s yanking his undershirt over his head, Legolas’ keen hearing could tell that Kane was lying to his fellow Wood-Elves, telling them he did not know where their friend was. The Prince's hands were swiftly retied, followed by the two merchants wrapping him in the cloth that they had draped over him, such that he appeared little more than a rolled rug._

_Legolas could hear his sentries becoming irate, demanding that Kane show them the backroom, that he tell them where their friend was. The two Elves well knew not to say that they were looking for the Prince, and indeed, were not even dressed as sentries of King Thranduil’s court to avoid anyone knowing that they traveled with the heir to the throne of Mirkwood. His eyes blinded by the cloth, the Elf only heard the faint sounds of footsteps and the slight creak of a door when Cort and Sven carried his rolled up body outside and into the alley behind the shop._

_Struggling against the darkness that came not from his dream but his fading soul, the Elf thought,_ Estel. I must go back to Estel. _From the abyss came a blinding light._

The Elf woke, blinking his eyes against the bright sun. No trees impeded his view of the sky. _Are we not in the Greenwood?_ His head felt heavy against the cushion it lay upon and he could find no strength to shift it so that he may look about him to see where he was. _This is no cushion_ , the Elf realized when he noticed the rise and fall of the chest he laid against, the bounce of his body upon the bare back of the horseflesh beneath him, and the familiar feel of the strong arm wrapped about him, holding him taut against his Estel.

Wetting his cracked lips, Legolas made as if to speak, but only a brief whimper escaped his lips, alerting his companion of his awareness instantly.


	8. Chapter 8

Immediately, the Ranger reined the horse into a standstill, shifting his arms to maintain his embrace on the limp Elf in his arms. In one motion, Aragorn slid off the horse while carrying Legolas with him. He laid his burden down in the soft, tall grass, and then crouched over the Elf's face to block the bright sun from his charge.

“Greenleaf?”

The Elf shut his eyes, his forehead gathered into a deep frown. _Surely, I did not imagine his moaning. He has made no move or sound for days._ Aragorn brushed the Elf’s hair back from his face, his calloused hands rough against the smooth, white flesh of the Wood-Elf’s fair features. Suddenly, Legolas opened his eyes, confusion and fear haunting their blue depths.

“Greenleaf? It is me, Estel.” The Elf’s pink tongue darted out, licking his dry lips. _Water, he needs water_. Aragorn jumped up to dash to the horse to obtain his waterskin. Upon his return, he noted that Legolas had moved his arm to reach his eyes, rubbing them weakly; it was a small feat, in the Ranger’s mind, as the Prince had been motionless since he had galloped out of Eryn Galen over a week ago.

“Drink.” He tipped the flask to his friend’s eager mouth.

Each day he had tended the Elf’s needs, giving him water, broth, and seeing to his fast healing physical wounds. But each day he had felt his friend slipping further from him. Now he tried to stifle the ecstatic tears that fell down his stubbled cheeks, for he was afraid that his joy might overwhelm the baffled Elf. When he had his fill of the water, Legolas peered up at Aragorn, his brow furrowed again, this time in wordless question.

“We are almost over the High Pass. I thought to take you home,” the Ranger explained, “but decided my father’s expertise was needed.” Legolas only watched him, silent but calm. Aragorn continued, not wanting to lose the Elf’s attention back to the foul dreams that had claimed him over the course of his weary journey. “We will arrive in only a few days.”

The Elf smiled faintly, the cheer not quite reaching his eyes – an observation that broke the Ranger’s heart. He longed to see his friend as carefree and mirthful as he had been before. _He is only tired, and he has been through much_ , the human reasoned, _and awake for only a few moments! It will take time._

Unable to hide his utmost relief at seeing the Elf awake again, Estel told Legolas, “You came back to me. I knew you wouldn’t leave me, Greenleaf.”

This time, when the Elf smiled, his eyes lit up brilliantly, the cobalt hue sparkling. “I will not leave you,” Legolas rasped out, finally finding the strength to speak.

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Legolas did not make idle promises. He would not leave the Ranger, no matter the cost to himself, and this knowledge made the Elf joyful, for truly he knew that though he may be nothing, Aragorn’s life was worthy enough for which to live. However, his luminous smile faltered when his friend’s previous words finally registered.

“The High Pass? We’ve traveled far.” Legolas’ voice was harsh from lack of use. _How much time have I missed?_

The Ranger’s worried countenance returned; Aragorn must have known the Elf’s concern, as he replied hesitantly, “Yes. We have been traveling for over a week.”

Although apparently he’d been insentient for over a week, the Wood-Elf could tell that his hair had been brushed and braided into a single plait to keep it out of the way; while he’d not had a proper bath since the day of his being subjugated, Legolas could feel that his face was freshly washed and his hands were clean; and since he’d been unconscious this whole time, he knew that he’d likely needed a change of clothes several times over when nature called and he wasn’t awake to answer, and perhaps more bathing and his clothing washed when his bladder had emptied itself. He might have felt ashamed to be so helpless in anyone else’s presence for so long, but the Ranger, much like the Noldorin twins and Elrond, were closer to him than anyone else was, including his own father, and the Prince gladly would have done the very same for any of them.

 _Estel has taken care of me this whole time,_ the Prince appreciated with swelling gratitude. _He could have taken me to Eryn Galen and let my own people tend me, but he did what he felt was best for me, not what was easiest for him._ Legolas might not be worth the Ranger’s care and attention, but having received it, the laegel couldn’t help but love the human all the more for giving it so freely. He recalled nothing of the last week and so asked for confirmation, “I have been unconscious this whole time?”

The human settled himself with his left hand on the opposite side of the Elf’s chest from where he sat, causing his torso to lean over the Elf as he let his left arm support his weight. With his free, right hand, he fidgeted with an errant strand of the Silvan’s long, flaxen hair, which was fluttering in the breeze around the Prince’s face. Aragorn did not meet the Elf’s eyes. Legolas laid still in the grass, comfortably positioned, and feeling safe despite the human who loomed over him.

He prompted when the Ranger did not answer, “Estel?”

Sighing, the Ranger tucked the golden lock of hair behind Legolas’ delicately pointed ear, his grey orbs finally meeting the Elf’s blue. “You were not unconscious. You were sleeping.”

 _What difference does it make to him that I was sleeping?_ As soon as he thought it, he knew the difference. _Estel gave me the draught_. Aloud he preempted the Ranger’s guilt, responding, “I asked for the medicine. I thought it may keep me from dreaming.”

“I could not wake you.” Estel appeared greatly bothered by his recollection of the past week, making Legolas wonder what he had said or done in his sleep to have perturbed his Adan friend so greatly. The human continued in a tone akin to a sigh, “You dreamt, of what horrors I cannot imagine, and I could not wake you. I have been no help to you. I have only watched you suffer.”

The Elf hurled himself at the Ranger with what strength he had left, throwing his arms around the man’s neck while proclaiming, “No, Estel! Think not such thoughts! It is for you that I am here.” The human immediately, fervently returned the embrace, holding the Silvan close to him. Unable to keep himself upright any longer, Legolas fell back, but the Ranger’s arms clutched him to lay the Prince back down on the grass carpet with tender affection.

“I knew you would not leave me,” the man replied, smiling an odd, sad smile. With his callous fingers, Aragorn swept the laegel’s furrowed brow as if to push askance the vexation there. “You need to eat and rest. Then we will be off again. Do you think you can travel? I would reach the valley as soon as possible, my friend.”

“I desire nothing to eat, nor rest. We can leave forthwith, unless you desire to rest or eat, which I would well say you could use.” Legolas noted the dark circles under his friend’s eyes and his hollowed cheeks. _He has taken better care of me than he has himself, it would seem. We should press on quickly so that Estel can rest, as well, once we reach Imladris._

“You will eat. You are far too thin and other than sips of broth, you have had no sustenance for over a week.” Aragorn scowled down at him, smiling even so as his joy to see the Elf awake could not be contained. “If you do not eat, then neither shall I.”

“Estel...” Legolas began; he stopped. _He_ _will not cave and he needs nourishment._ Not trusting his belly to hold much, the Silvan conceded, “Broth only, then.”

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Although he was gladdened to see his friend acting more like himself, Estel worried at the Elf’s weakness. After helping him eat some broth, and nearly forcing him into eating lembas, also, he aided the Elf in attending his personal needs and then laid him back down in the withered, soft grasses that had not yet greened for the coming spring. The Ranger ate lembas, watching as Legolas’ eyes threatened to close in desire for sleep. Each time his lids drooped the Silvan’s hand would fist tightly in the fabric of the last pair of clean leggings that Aragorn had dressed him in earlier that day. For every nod of his head, Legolas would clutch the cloth at his thigh. The Ranger watched the Silvan fight slumber repeatedly, until the meaning of the Elf’s actions hit him.

_He grips the scar._

Aragorn stood, his hunger forgotten; he walked to his friend’s side. The sun’s light was almost spent, casting no shadows in the treeless plain on the Misty Mountain and making the Elf’s hair glow ethereally titian with the color of the sunset. They had decided to move on when the Ranger had finished his meal, but Estel did not intend to eat whilst the Prince suffered.

“Greenleaf.”

Startled, the Elf’s eyes flew open and he clasped the disfigurement beneath his leggings again. It pained Aragorn to see his friend distraught. This was not the brave warrior he had fought beside so many times, nor the one who had given him hope and courage in the face of dismal conditions. This was not the Woodland being that had taught him about the forests, shown him the beauty and bounty of nature, and aided him in feeling at home amongst the wilds. The Elf before him was a ghost, except the Elf was the haunted one. He did not know what dreams came to the Prince; however, before he had fallen still a few days into the journey, the Elf had moaned and writhed frequently. _I do not blame him for not wanting to sleep, I am not sure I could endure him sleeping, either._ Aragorn had barely maintained his sanity over the journey thus far, for both the desperate cries and the silence of his beloved friend had nearly broken him. For the remainder of his years, Estel would have his own occasional nightmares about the harrowing time he’d spent trying to get the Wood-Elf to Imladris before Legolas gave in to death and despair.

As he was eager to leave when the threat of Legolas’ insentience renewed his ambition to be in the valley where Elrond could care for the laegel, he asked the Silvan, “Are you ready?”

Legolas nodded, as eager as Estel was to leave – likely just for any distraction from the slumber his tired body craved. Strengthened, the Elf rose with the Ranger’s help and hobbled to their waiting mount. Ere he could boost the Elf onto the horse’s back, Legolas stopped him, holding his hand in the air. Initially, the human thought Legolas intended to mount by himself and started to protest – the Elf did not move but cocked his head to the side, listening. Although in a grassy plain, Greenleaf could no doubt still hear the trees from afar as they cringed at the dark beings there.

“Yrch,” the Elf hissed, his eyes narrowed, and his face curled into a grimace of disgust. “They are coming across the plain quickly.”

At once, the Ranger boosted the Elf onto the horse. “They must have caught our scent. We must outrun them.”

The Prince did not argue. Pulling himself up behind the Elf, Aragorn spurred the tired horse into a gallop just as the foul, evil creatures scrambled over the rock outcropping and into the meadow. The first black arrows flew towards them in a whistling rush.


	9. Chapter 9

Without thought, Aragorn wrapped his body around the Elf in front of him, seeking to shield his Greenleaf from the poisoned arrows whipping through the air around them. He spared a furtive glance backwards, ascertaining that approximately a dozen Orcs were chasing behind them, most of that number wielding crossbows aimed in the fleeing duo’s direction. Their horse – already tired from the hasty journey so far, being that it was unused to a pace faster than pulling a wagon – could not outrun the Orcs, whose excitement to find human flesh for dinner and Elf flesh for torture spurred them on in the chase.

The first arrow hit its mark directly in the flank of the exhausted steed, causing the horse to stumble in pain and fright and nearly throwing its passengers to the ground in the process. The second arrow hit the horse’s neck. This time the Elf and Ranger fell amidst the stamping horse hooves and black arrows raining down upon them when their steed bucked, heaving the two into the air. The Orcs stopped their barrage of poisonous projectiles, preferring instead to take the Elf and Man alive.

Aragorn crawled the short distance where his companion lay on the ground. The Prince’s limbs were twisted and his body still. “Wake, Greenleaf,” he begged, knowing that he could not fight off the Orcs and protect Legolas at the same time. As it was, they had been very lucky to have avoided trouble thus far. The Elf shifted, groaning as he moved his arms and legs. “Get up,” he barked at the Elf to try to rouse him. “Get up and fight!”

 _Please, my friend_. The Ranger looked back at the approaching Orcs, their crossbows forgotten, and their black tainted swords raised threateningly. Aragorn rose, drawing his own sword to face the foul creatures. _They will not have him, not while I yet breathe._

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 _What has happened?_ The clash of metal upon metal broke Legolas from his disoriented pondering, while the rancid smell of Orcs incited in him the desire to kill. He picked himself off the ground, his weary, unused muscles protesting, but his warrior’s instincts overriding any physical discomfort upon his noticing, _Estel fights alone._

Only a few of the Orcs had reached their position and the Ranger had already dispatched three of the dark beasts; the rest of the band were right behind their slain comrades, though, and Legolas had only seconds to retrieve his bow and quiver from their fallen mount. He did not bother to strap his quiver to his back for the fast Orcs would soon be too close for his bow to be of much use. Instead, he grabbed several arrows, launching them one after the other in quick, though unsteady procession, felling several of the closest Orcs.

Aragorn turned, smiling his appreciation and joy at seeing his companion revived and active. The Elf smiled in return, his own pleasure derived from the song and dance of battle that he and the Ranger had attuned themselves to long ago. Together they moved as a team. Legolas picked off a few more Orcs until those that remained were too close to Aragorn for him to trust his shaky muscles in aiming accurately. The Ranger had slain two more, one with a thrust of his mighty broadsword into the creature’s chest and slitting the other’s throat. Only three remained.

The Ranger did not see the one that approached him from behind. Legolas did, however, though he was unable to locate his long knife amidst their possessions and so could only throw himself at the creature that raised its weapon to attack the Ranger. He knocked the Orc to the ground, where Elf and Orc rolled.

Ere the Elf could gain the upper hand, the Orc had the weakened Silvan pinned on the ground underneath him, his blade raised, but Legolas found energy in his revulsion of the creature, for just the feeling of the putrid beast atop him renewed his struggle. He grabbed the Orc’s slimy arm and pushed the surprised creature’s sword into its own chest. Try as he might, the Elf could not shove the dying brute’s body off him. The vapors of the Orc’s black blood irritated the Elf’s face and eyes, his fair skin and clothes became tainted with the disgusting substance. Grinning ferociously in a final attempt to kill the hated Elf beneath him, the Orc pulled the blade from his own torso and leant down, his moldy, yellowed teeth dripping above Legolas' face as the foul creature attempted to slam the fouled blade into the Elf’s belly.

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Having seen his friend tackle the Orc from his peripheral vision, Estel had assumed Legolas had his long knife and was grateful the Elf had saved his hide yet again. He turned back to the remaining Orcs, his attention focused on the larger, more treacherous of the two. The two Orcs fought together, trapping the Ranger between their wildly swinging blades, but Aragorn had the advantage – he slipped underneath the swords, pushed the smaller into the larger, and thus one Orc into his fellow beast's blade.

Sparing a moment to check on his Elven friend, Estel caught sight of the Silvan trying to heave the dead Orc body from atop him. Seeing the Wood-Elf to be in no immediate danger, he attacked the last Orc, cleaving its sword arm from its body and then piercing the foul being’s black heart with a mighty plunge. Aragorn stumbled back with the adrenaline rush of battle reeling in his veins; he looked about him for any surviving Orcs. Upon seeing none, the Ranger dropped his bloodied blade in the befouled grass and rushed to Legolas’ side, helping the struggling Elf to remove the vile creature. Grabbing his friend’s arm, Aragorn hauled the Prince to his feet with a wide grin.

“You’re more Orc blood than Elf,” the Ranger jested, as he took in the sight of his usually pristine companion covered in the black blood of the Orc. Legolas smiled back wanly, holding his arm tightly across his stomach. _He looks pale; the effort of battle has been too much for him._ He hesitated to begin nagging the Elf concerning his welfare, but asked, “Are you well?”

The Elf smiled again and nodded his head. “I will be fine as soon as I get this foul gore off me.”

 _He is more like himself with each passing moment_. Seeing the Wood-Elf with his bow had brightened the Ranger’s hope for the laegel – at least now that they were out of immediate danger. With better cheer and gladness that Legolas was well enough to have both defended himself and aid Estel, the human told the Prince, “Thank you. You have saved this silly human’s life again.”

“You are welcome,” came the Prince’s pleased rejoinder. Even Legolas seemed buoyed by having fought the Orcs, for war was the Prince’s craft and he enjoyed practicing it. “I am glad to have been able to help. For a moment, I thought that last Orc might get the better of me.”

A teasing comment was on the tip of Estel’s tongue; he promptly forgot it when he noticed the rubicund fluid that trickled from beneath the vapid hand that lay on the Elf’s stomach.

“Greenleaf!” Aragorn rushed forward, intending to find the source of the blood spilling from the Silvan’s belly. However, the abrupt action shocked the Elf and Legolas stepped backwards, his hands thrust out defensively in front of him and his laughter halting at once. The Ranger stopped. His companion was staring at him, wide-eyed and aghast with unintentional suspicion.

 _He is easily spooked_ , Aragorn thought gloomily.

Lifting his own hands palms up and unable to hide the plaintive ache in his voice at his friend’s reaction, the human inquired, “It is only me, Greenleaf; why do you flee?”

Immediately, Aragorn noted the disgrace upon the Prince’s fair features and was remorseful to be the cause of it, for he had shamed the laegel for his instinctual mistrust when the Ranger should expect that Legolas would still be on edge. _Stop being an idiot,_ he railed at himself. _He cannot help being jumpy._ The last thing that he wanted was to cause his Greenleaf any more discomfiture or anxiety.

The Elf told him with his face turned to the ground, “Goheno nin. Your fervor surprised me. That is all.”

Deciding that tending Legolas’ wound was more important than this quibble, the Ranger shook his head and flashed the Elf a false smile of reconciliation. “You are hurt. Let me see,” he half-pled, half-commanded the still startled Wood-Elf.

Legolas only looked back dispassionately at the human. “I am not injured. I am fine.”

Approaching the Silvan slowly, his arms still slightly outstretched, Aragorn pointed to the Prince’s stomach, where the silvery blood had ceased to flow, but still stained the Orc blood blackened tunic he wore. “You are bleeding. Can you not feel it?”

Ere the Ranger had reached Legolas, the Elf had lifted his tunic to gape at the sliced flesh that wept his life essence. “I cannot feel it, no.” Aragorn checked the Prince’s face worriedly, looking for some sign that his friend was being mendacious, hoping that his friend was stretching the truth, for the lack of pain unnerved Estel as much as the injury itself.

“Sit. Please,” the Ranger said while he pushed more than helped the Elf into sitting on the ground.

With Legolas settled, his cobalt eyes watching the healer’s movements in weary perplexity, Aragorn rushed to their slain horse to obtain his satchel. He looked off into the distance in the direction from where the Orcs had come and then scanned the field around them. No more of the Yrch were on their way and all the ones around were dead, so for now they were relatively safe enough for the Ranger to take the time to see to the Prince’s injury. Snatching his bag in hand, the Ranger stepped over several Orc bodies, avoiding the slippery black blood that covered the once peaceful meadow floor. _Why can he not feel the wound? Perhaps this is caused by the trauma of recent events;_ _else, he is poisoned by the blade._

Upon reaching the Elf, Aragorn knelt beside his companion, quickening to find his water skin to wash the injury clean of the noxious Orc blood and any possible poisons. Legolas did not seem interested in his own wound but was looking outwards across the plain, his eyes glazed in memory or distraction. Afraid to surprise his friend again, the healer laid his hand on the Elf’s shoulder to gain his attention. “I need to wash your wound. Lay back.”

Complying without argument and his attention still elsewhere, Legolas leant back with the Ranger’s help until he lay with his head resting on Estel’s rolled up overcoat. Cautiously, the healer raised the Elf’s tunic, anxious that Legolas may react negatively to this handling as he exposed the pale flesh of the Silvan’s abdomen to the cooling evening air. Aragorn quickly cleaned the wound, which appeared to be nothing more than a slight break in the smooth skin but could possibly be hiding a much more serious harm. With gentle movements, the healer sluiced the remainder of his water over the injury before tightly pressing a square of linen to stifle the erupting blood, and then he sought the herbs he needed from his satchel.

 _It is shallow and yet he bleeds too freely,_ Estel worried as he crushed his mixture, glancing at the quiet Elf.

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 _Anything. Think of anything but this_. Legolas tried hard to absorb himself in the coming night, the emerging stars, the feel of the grass under his body, but all he could focus on was the softness of the Ranger’s touch, the human’s slight breathing, and the grey eyes that exuded love and concern. _I am wrong to feel this way. I am wrong to feel anything. I am nothing._

“Can you stand?” Caught in his own thoughts, Legolas did not hear the Ranger’s fretful query until the human repeated himself, this time with alarm. “Greenleaf – can you stand?”

Shaken more by Aragorn’s nearness than by the wound he had sustained, the Elf did not respond but sat upright, ignoring the man’s hand under his arm that helped him to gain his feet. For a few moments, the Wood-Elf was certain he would fall back to the ground as the darkening sky swam before his eyes and the meadow tilted dizzyingly. He kept his feet by tightening his hand in the Ranger’s tunic, who reacted by wrapping his strong arm around the Elf’s waist.

“We need shelter. The night comes swiftly and we both need rest.”

Legolas did not argue. _I cannot sleep_. Whatever elation he had found in his abilities as a warrior had left him; he could not recall the joy because panic overcame him when he thought of the coming night. Together, the Elf and Ranger shambled to the fallen horse to retrieve their possessions. As the Elf stared down at the felled, bloodied, and slowly cooling mount, Aragorn gathered only the most important of their assets – weapons and food.

“We leave more behind with each battle. By the time we reach the valley, we may have nothing more than the shirts on our backs,” Aragorn jested weakly, a faint grin playing across his face in the dying light.

The broken, failing Silvan warrior did not reply at first, for the words of his companion were too true. _We have lost much. More than the chattel of travel. And we may never reclaim any of it again._ Belligerently, Legolas forced himself to smile for Aragorn, to appease the Ranger's worry and fears, as he responded sincerely, “As long as we reach the valley together, Estel, I do not care what we leave behind.”

The Ranger stood with their packs and satchels looped about him. Aragorn’s grin grew, his bliss at the Elf’s words clear in his visage. “Come.” Despite already carrying the burden of their belongings, Estel wrapped his arm around Legolas’ middle while the Elf latched his fist into the cloth at the Ranger’s shoulder, and the two stumbled in the direction of Rivendell, looking for shelter from the chilly, harsh night along their way. 


	10. Chapter 10

The Elf did not complain when the wrapping of his wound came free, not when his arms and legs began to tremble with exhaustion. He did not protest when Aragorn chose a musty, tiny cave for them to stay the night in and he did not gripe when his human companion left him to gather firewood. In fact, Legolas said nothing at all, but stared blankly about him while the Ranger set up camp alone. Their small cave, which was little more than a crevice in the mountainside, gave them no room except to take turns in lying down inside, and their baggage and the fire were both kept just outside the opening.

Estel was afraid. The last time the Elf had slipped into sleep, he had not been able to wake his friend, and the consequences had almost cost the Woodland Prince his life. _Legolas needs rest. Yet, I fear he may nightmare again. He should not have to live through the suffering again in his dreams_.

It seemed the Elf feared the same, for after they had supped on more broth, lembas, water, and a few nuts the Ranger had found while collecting firewood, Legolas’ eyes began to err from vigilant awareness. Aragorn watched as his friend fought the sleep his body desired. Desperately, the Ranger wished to find some way to comfort the Silvan and would have done anything within his power to remove the grief so evident in Legolas' every movement, word, and expression.

“The hour grows late. I will take first watch,” the Elf proclaimed, acting as though to rise. Quickly, the Ranger stopped him by laying a hand on the Silvan’s shoulder.

“No, I will take first watch. Rest,” Estel countered commandingly, hoping Legolas would not argue.

“I’ve no wish for sleep. I can...”

Aragorn’s glare interrupted the Prince’s excuses. He was not angry; the Ranger was concerned. “You cannot sacrifice your health. You are wounded. You must sleep. We are almost off the mountain; before long, we will be in Rivendell. You will need your strength if we are to make it there soon.”

“You need sleep, also,” Legolas muttered softly but did not quarrel further. To continue to argue would only be to bring up that which the Elf did not wish to speak of – his attack at the hands of the merchants and how it affected his health.

Aragorn almost told his friend not to worry, that he was here with him and he would protect him with his life. However, given the Ranger’s perceived ineptitude at keeping the Silvan from harm in recent events, Estel kept his thoughts to himself. He could not promise Legolas safety when he had let him be hurt already.

As the healer crawled away from the cave’s entrance, the Elf caught his shirt, pleading confusion decorating his pale face. He said nothing, though, but let go of Aragorn’s sleeve, turned, and laid down on his bedroll with his back to the Ranger, one arm under his flaxen head as a pillow. Unsure of what his friend wanted of him, Estel continued out and chose a spot where he could easily see the Elf and their meager surroundings. With the coming night came increased peril on the Misty Mountains and Aragorn did not want to be caught unsuspecting by Orc or Troll.

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Trying to steady his breathing, Legolas closed his eyes. The very dark of his shut lids panicked him and the shame he felt at being so weak overwhelmed him. _I should not be as pathetic as this._ The Elf was ashamed of his previous actions. He had desired the Ranger to stay beside him until he fell asleep, but he had been too humiliated to ask Estel. It was not that Aragorn would have begrudged him for needing the human close; no, Legolas resented himself for needing the reassurance of the Ranger’s presence.

 _Estel would gladly give me comfort. I do not deserve it. I will not ask him. I will not be a burden to him anymore_. Carrying this oath in the forefront of his consciousness, Legolas forced his body to relax. He could not feel his hands or feet any longer, and any injuries he had, including the recent stab wound, were numbed – except for the scar. Why the closed, sealed mar would pain him, the Elf did not know. Other than occasional discomfort, it hadn't bothered him much as it healed.

 _Sleep_ , the Prince ordered himself. Using the unfeeling fingers of his free hand, Legolas traced the path of the disfigurement through the cloth of the leggings he wore. He could not feel the scar with his fingers, but he felt his fingers with the scar, a disconnected sensation that lulled him into despondency. _The merchants are dead. I am safe_ , he tried to convince himself. The danger came not from the living world this night, but from where Legolas feared to tread – the realm of his dreams.

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Absentmindedly, the Ranger stoked the fire, his eye ever watchful on the rocky terrain around him and the resting Elf within their temporary shelter. Legolas, the Ranger noted with some satisfaction, was breathing easily, his body relaxed but not immobile as it had been the last time the Wood-Elf slept. Aragorn pondered the Elf’s odd action ere he had exited the cave to go on watch. When Legolas had grabbed his arm, his fair, beautiful face entreating the Ranger for something, Aragorn would have given his companion anything, whatever the Elf had desired, if he would only tell Estel what he needed.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, the human then threw another handful of brush on the fire. _Ada will know what to do for him. I only hope we make it before Legolas has given in to despair. Even as his body grows stronger, his mind combats his suspicions and fears._

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_Sven heaved the roll of thick cloth onto the forest floor before he leapt from his horse. Incapable of seeing the merchants, Legolas did not try to free himself from his confinement; he was tied and his body ached in places that he had never considered possible of pain before. If they wanted to kill him, the Prince only hoped that it would be quick. He no longer cared to live. He would have let his faer free of his rhaw before now, but ravaged, bloodied, and covered in the vile seed of his attackers was not how he wanted to die – nor did he want word to be taken to his father that his son had died so pitiably. If the humans did not kill him now, the Wood-Elf would hide the evidence of his shame and later consider how best to die._

_“Ho_ _w long do you make for the other Elves to come back this way?”_

“ _I don’t know. They were on foot, but must’ve had their horses in the forest somewhere. An hour, I guess, maybe more since they don’t know where we’ve gone. They might even search around some. You know Kane’s a good liar.” The young merchant laughed. “He’s likely sent them on a wild good chase.”_

_Kicking the roll of cloth, and thus Legolas in the back of his head, the older merchant suggested, “Suppose we have a bit more fun with him yet? Before we kill him? Why waste an hour?” Both men chuckled in sick anticipation._

Legolas woke with a start and sat up in the confined space, thereby cracking his skull against the small cavern’s roof, while his hands fumbled for a weapon. The blow and natural dark of the cave blackened his eyesight; for several terrifying moments, the Elf thought he was still in the rolled cloth, with the men kicking him through it.

_No, they are dead. They are dead._

The roughened walls of the cave could well have been the scratchy cloth of his imprisonment in the merchants’ company. The Elf’s thinking wavered chaotically between his dreams and his wakening. The pressure of a hand on his numb leg startled him further, making him withdraw into the creviced back wall of the cave, pulling himself as far away as he could get from the hands that sought to take him, to make him suffer. Frantically, he burrowed his fingers into the scar on his thigh, reassuring himself that if it were there, then he had already survived this horror. With his other hand, he still sought a weapon and finally found a sharp rock with which to defend himself.

He could hear one of the merchants talking, though the words were lost to him as all he could hear was the rushing sound of blood from his pounding heart. Digging his fingernails through the cloth of his trousers and into his disfigurement, Legolas broke the healing skin of the scar as he whispered fiercely, “Leave me be.”

“No. Come here,” a familiar voice implored. “I cannot reach you, please, Greenleaf.”

The distraught Elf did not answer. He knew the voice, he knew who it was, but he could not loosen the grip of fear on his mind. Blood seeped through the leggings over his thigh. He did not care. Somehow, the pain from the scar was all he could feel, all that reminded him he resided in the present, safe with Estel on their way to Imladris, and so he continued to pry the flesh apart as reassurance against the remembrance.

Anxiously, Aragorn beseeched, “Greenleaf, please...”

 _I am worrying Estel_ , the Elf thought and his mind reeled with this revelation. Fear or not, the Prince would not inflict anymore suffering on his companion, and so with one arm he pushed his way out of the crevice, into the tiny cave, and then out of it, until his scooting body hit a pliable obstacle on the ground.

“I am sorry,” Legolas began, still unsure of where he was or what was happening, and yet sadly detecting the healer’s kind face, which was wild with trepidation. He longed to end his friend’s pain. All apologies were cut off when the Ranger silently grabbed the Elf to pull Legolas tightly to his chest. Although he was taken aback by the vehemence with which Aragorn grabbed him, Legolas welcomed the strong arms of his human companion, which crushed him to the man’s chest as they sat on the wintry ground. He laid his head on the Ranger’s shoulder. After a while, the Prince's confusion left.

 _It was a dream. Only that._ Neither Elf nor Ranger spoke – Legolas from fear of shattering the fleeting tranquility Aragorn’s embrace offered him and the Ranger from his anxiety to have the Elf retreat again into his mind’s frenzied machinations. After several minutes had passed, Legolas withdrew from the Adan’s arms, albeit unwillingly, and raised his head from the man’s shoulder, still desperately clasping the sharp rock in one hand and his scarred thigh in the other. The feeling had returned to his body with full force and the agony from his wounded, exhausted rhaw was nothing compared to the fervor the Ranger stirred within him. His ardor petrified him, especially after his nightmare.

“Legolas,” an apprehensive Aragorn queried, “are you well?”

Pulling back completely so that he could face his friend, Legolas replied, plastering what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face to assuage the human’s worry and to hide his shamed longing to be in the man’s comforting arms again, “I am.” The Elf sat back on his haunches; it was then that Aragorn noted the bloodied leggings.

“What has happened? Did you cut yourself on the rocks?” The Ranger did not wait for a response but jumped up, catching the strap of his bag and reseating himself in front of the Elf hastily. Legolas knew well what had happened but hesitated to tell the human; his face blushed in humiliation. _It matters not what I do. I am nothing. A burden to Estel, that is all. I chose to stay for him but I am only a cumbersome load for him to carry._

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Raising his head from searching through his knapsack, the Ranger met only the top of Legolas’ head, the loosened blond hair hiding his Elven friend’s face. “Greenleaf?” When the Elf did not answer, Estel gently placed his fingers under the Prince’s chin, lifting Legolas’ head up to meet his gaze. The depths of anguish and shame in the Elf’s cerulean orbs devastated the Ranger. “What is it? What happened? You cannot hide from me, my friend, and it pains me to know you feel as though you should.”

“No, Estel. I would never hide from you. I...” The Elf stopped, dropping his head back down once more ere Aragorn raised it again, this time keeping his fingers under Legolas’ chin. The Ranger said naught and the Elf continued, tears welling in his eyes as he spoke, “I do not want to burden you. I am weak. I am sorry.” The uncharacteristic but unstoppable tears fell, sliding over the dirty ivory cheeks of his companion. Without commenting, knowing the Elf needed to speak but his heart breaking at the words spoken, the Ranger smoothed the moisture away tenderly with his knuckles, keeping his eyes locked onto Legolas’ watery gaze. Mumbling almost too inaudibly for the Ranger to hear, the Prince sighed, “I am nothing. Nothing but a burden to you, Estel. I came back from my despair for you, to keep you from sorrow, and yet my weakness only distresses you.”

A soft, strangled cry escaped the human’s lips. “You are no burden. You are not weak. Why do you think these things? Why do you believe you are nothing?”

Speaking barely above a whisper, the once proud but now broken Elf responded, “The merchants told me I am nothing, only their plaything. I could not evade them. Twice they proved my worth to me. I could not even keep you from harm.”

Grasping the Elf’s hand in his, the Ranger countered, “It was not I who was harmed, Greenleaf; it was you that were harmed. It was I who could not keep you from harm. You are not nothing. You are a brother and friend to me and I love you. Do you tell me that I love nothing? Heed not those rancid humans’ regard for you.”

“Estel...” The Elf paused, his troubled brow creasing and his face lit with a self-hatred and doubt that the Ranger had never before seen in his friend. “You do not think less of me after what has happened? Even after...” Legolas’ voice trailed off.

 _He speaks more than of his torture_. Removing the sharp rock kindly from his companion’s free hand, the healer asked, “Even after what?”

Legolas evaded the human’s eyes, staring past him as he answered, “Even after I did not fight them. When my body found pleasure in their torment?” The Elf wept quietly, his head hanging in dishonor.

At first, the Ranger could not determine what his friend meant. _He did not fight them to keep me safe. What does he mean? Pleasure?_ However, Aragorn soon comprehended the nadir of Legolas’ grief. _He does not know of the poison. He thinks his body’s reactions were of his own making._

“Greenleaf! You could not help but react thusly to their torment! Your body betrayed your heart by their evil handiwork.”

“I know. And for this, I am nothing, Estel. They were right, I am weak, and I am nothing. I am sorry...”

 _If only I had known he thought this._ He sought the Elf’s eyes. Eager to break the Prince’s litany of blame, Aragorn interrupted, “You do not understand. They used poison to force your body to respond to their vile treatment.”

Shocked into quieting his distress by this revelation, the Elf whispered, “Poison?”

“Yes, poison. Do you not remember?” The Elf shook his blonde head in wonder and already Estel could feel Legolas’ soul lighten with this knowledge. “It is not your fault. Look at me, please.” Again, the human delicately turned the Elf’s head to face him. “Do not be grieved by what you could not control.”

“I did not know this. You are right, Estel. Thank you.” For the first time since his second encounter with the merchants and despite still being covered in the black Orc’s blood, a myriad of injuries, and abject despair, Legolas smiled with such relief that the Ranger had hope that his friend would return to him – with time. Estel wiped the remaining moisture from his longtime friend’s face and then from his own, returning the smile with new optimism.

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Legolas felt liberated. _Poison. It was not me. It was not from acceptance of their fetid truths that I participated in their cruel sport_. The disclosure of this news did not alleviate the anguish of his excruciation, nor his suspicion of his body’s reaction to Estel, but it did allay his dread that the merchants had tainted him forever with their foul deeds. _I am not so broken that time will not heal this. If Aragorn can have hope then so too shall I._

The Ranger declared, “I had forgotten, let me see to your leg.” With sudden recollection, the Elf stared down at his bleeding thigh, which he once more held in hand, squeezing the torn flesh such that it ached relentlessly. The healer rifled through his bag, asking, “How did this happen? Did the wound come open? It appeared to be healed.”

Shamefully, the Prince explained, his determination to keep his promise not to hide from Aragorn fueling his words, “I broke open the scar. I dreamt about what happened ere I was marred and knowing it lay there now reminded me that the dream was not real.” The Ranger glanced worriedly at Legolas, prompting the Elf to continue mystifyingly, “It was the only thing I could feel.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Aragorn was thrown by the casual utterance of the peculiar justification that the Prince gave for reopening his injury. “Can you feel now? What prompted you to tear the wound?”

Tilting his head to the side in thought, the Elf replied, “Yes, I can feel, though it seems distant. I tore the scar to remind me.”

The baffling, heartrending account did not sit well with the Ranger. _Never mind, for Ada will be the judge of what malady this is. I need to tend his thigh._ Aragorn had the feeling that he was not at all qualified to be digging into the Elf's problems, for what he found would be beyond his ability to repair.

Aragorn pulled the Elf’s hand gently from his leg, noting that the cloth had several holes in it but was mostly intact. Without pondering the implications of his next words, the Ranger commanded, “Pull down your trousers.”

Legolas stiffened immediately, his body taut with unintentional misgivings. _By Varda, Estel, you are an idiot_ , he told himself. To the Prince he explained patiently, “We’ve no other trousers and I would not have the wound so exposed to the elements should I have to cut the cloth to reach your injury.”

Legolas nodded his acquiescence, though he did not move. Placing his healing items to the side, Aragorn knelt in front of his companion, laid his hands on the Elf’s shoulders, and pushed the Silvan backwards onto the rocky terrain in front of their cavern shelter. The Wood-Elf complied without comment. A cool breeze wafted embers of their night fire over them, the sparks drawing the Elf’s attention away from the man’s movements as Aragorn lifted his companion’s tunic, first inspecting the Prince's stomach wound in hopes of calming the Elf with the familiarity of his touch ere he moved to the more difficult task.

 _The Orc’s blade was not poisoned and the injury heals well_ , the Ranger decided, satisfied to see that the gash had not torn further during the Elf’s nightmare.

When Estel reached for the lacings of the Silvan’s trousers, he sensed Legolas’ apprehension and felt the Elf shudder. Thinking that the Silvan feared his touch, the Ranger pulled back, saying, “Why do you not unlace your trousers, whilst I mix the herbs.”

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With trembling fingers that the Elf tried desperately to hide, Legolas reached for the lacings of his trousers, unfastening them obstinately as he reasoned, _Estel has seen me in more compromising positions than this over the many years. He is a healer, besides._ When done, the Elf hitched his thumbs under the waistband and yanked the cloth down past the wound before he could change his mind, but tugged his tunic as far down as it would go to hide as much as he could, nonetheless. Legolas lay back, waiting for the human to touch him, hoping he would not react excessively to Estel’s touch, and embarrassed, overall, to be so exposed in front of his companion, though in their years as friends each had seen the other thusly on many occasions, although not under such grieving circumstances.

Aragorn sat his mortar aside; the Ranger scrutinized the scar upon the Elf’s thigh with the disinterest of a healer, much to Legolas’ relief. “The wound should not be so easily reopened,” the human muttered to himself, oblivious to the Elf’s worry as he prodded the tender flesh, considering the injury meticulously. Legolas had managed to tear the new skin over the middle section of the long scar but had not damaged the scar’s length in its entirety.

Smearing a finely ground paste of herbs over the gash, Aragorn then bound the wound quickly with linen to smile peculiarly at Legolas as he declared, “It should heal well, if you leave it be.”

Taking this advice as an admonishment, the Prince heaved his trousers up over his slim hips, his fingers hastily retying the lacings as he replied candidly, softly, “It is the dreams. I feel as though I am no longer in control – not here or in my sleep. If I can feel the pain of the scar through the nightmares then I know I have lived through the torture already. It is all I have to keep me from giving in to the despair that reliving the events forces upon me.”

Sighing heavily, the Ranger suggested, “Mayhap if you would share this burden I could lessen it, Greenleaf. You have yet to tell me what has transpired ere our encounter with the merchants in the woods. Your healing is hampered with the weight of your abuse. I would give my life to change the past though I cannot. If you would tell me of it, I will gladly share the weight of this tiresome yoke with you.” The Ranger’s silver eyes met the cobalt orbs of the Elf, and Legolas, despite his dread, realized the human deserved to know.

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Sensing the Silvan’s yearning to end the inquiry but recognizing that Legolas would answer in accordance with his earlier promise not to hide from him, Aragorn pulled the Elf up from his prone position. Leaning against the outside wall next to the mouth of the cave, Estel maneuvered his friend until the Elf’s pointed ear lay against the Ranger's chest, his head above the human’s heart. He hoped the close contact would keep the Prince aware of the present, that he was safe, and that Aragorn was close. The Ranger remembered a time many years ago when he was a youth and the Elf had taken him on a venture into the woods, that the Prince had held him thusly to keep him warm during an unforeseen blizzard. What comfort he had felt that day from Legolas he hoped to return now.

The Elf did not argue the abrupt change in arrangement; instead, Legolas curled felinely against the Ranger’s body, pulling his knees towards his chest, his body reclining on its side with Aragorn as its support, while wrapping his arms loosely around himself. _I hope it is not too soon for him to speak of such things and yet I cannot help but believe he would be aided by releasing his withheld suffering._

“Tell me, Legolas. Trust me.”

Legolas shifted slightly, his hip grinding unwittingly into the apex of the man’s spread legs between which the Elf sat, his head still lying on the man’s chest. Estel was not prepared for the engaging sensation of his companion’s body against his or the ripples of pleasure that ran through him at the contact between the Elf’s hip and the flexure betwixt his lower limbs.

He chided himself, _Your thoughts are base! Legolas is your friend, intending to tell you of his troubles, and you can think naught but lusty ideas!_

The Prince did not seem to notice the healer’s uneasiness. He began his tale and quickly the Ranger’s passion wilted in horror at the account of through what Legolas had lived.

The Silvan told the Ranger the events that had transpired those weeks ago in Lake-town, though he carefully hid his reason for going to the human settlement out of fear that Aragorn would feel he was to blame in Legolas’ journey. With a trembling, unsteady voice, the Elf related how the men had taken him in the backroom, how they had taken turns defiling him, and how they had left him tied and bleeding to the barrel while they celebrated their conquest with fine wine. He told Estel of what happened upon their return, how they had taunted him and belittled him. When his chronological retelling came to how Kane had raped him with the wine bottle, Legolas buried his head against the Ranger’s overcoat and bit his lip harshly in a vain attempt to stifle the welling sobs that heaved from his aching soul. In all the years that Estel had known the Prince, he had never seen Legolas so distraught, nor thought that he ever would. He had always known the Silvan to be a fervid fighter, a competent diplomat, and a caring friend, but never thought to see the Wood-Elf as such – broken and despairing.

Aragorn said little through the story; however, he lightly stroked his friend’s back in reassurance while he laid his cheek against the top of the Elf’s head. The Prince could not see the Ranger’s face from his position lying against the human’s chest, but Legolas could feel the man’s tears soaking through the tangled, flaxen hair atop his head as Aragorn wept his own remorse.

“They did not intend to leave me alive. Tied as I was, I could not fight them off when they unrolled the cloth and relentlessly began to beat me with their feet and fists. I was only gladdened that they did not try to take me again. I did not think I would survive it. What they intended was much more heinous, though, and I soon wished they had only desired my subjugation again.” The Elf paused, his shoulders shaking with the emotive force of his recollection. Aragorn continued rubbing back and forth, up and down Legolas’ back. Soothed by his companion’s presence, the Prince continued, “Cort took out his dagger as Sven unlaced my trousers. They told me again that I was nothing, that I was only for their amusement, and that now they were bored with me. They...” Legolas hesitated. He desired to free himself of this atrocious memory but he did not want to reveal more of his shame.

“What, Legolas? They what?” Aragorn’s voice was muffled through the hair against which his cheek lay.

“They wished to geld me.” Unable to impede the shudder that ran through him at the reminiscence, the Elf clung tightly, unknowingly to the human’s leather coat. “They tried. I rolled away from them, gaining my feet. I was little competition for them with my ankles and wrists tied but I fought as I well as I could. Cort tackled me to the ground. While he held me down, Sven again tried to... he... he almost did.”

The Elf fell silent and the Ranger prompted softly, “Is this how you obtained the scar?”

“No. I kicked Sven off ere he could complete his foul act. I could not die in such a manner," the Prince explained, shaking his head against his friend's chest. "Riders came from within the woods, and thinking the riders were the sentries looking for me, the merchants decided to make my death quick so I could not implicate them in their evil deeds. My hands were bound in front of me; when they moved back to slay me, I managed to stand again, surprising them. Before they could catch me, I had leapt into the nearest tree, though I was not fast enough to evade them entirely.”

Legolas sighed, his tears spent and his story almost over. “A branch branded me with this scar, for as I ascended the tree, Cort caught hold of my legs, pulled me back down with all his might, and broke a thin limb on my way down; my thigh was scored by the broken end of the branch. I did not lose my hold and was able to climb the tree into a bough above the reach of their arms. They shot arrow after arrow to bring me down until all they held in their quivers was spent and they fled in fear from the approaching horses.”

“The sentries found you?”

“No,” Legolas replied, shaking his head slightly against the man’s chest, “the riders were my sentries, but I hid. I thought I might stay in the tree; my heart despaired of this life and I did not want the pity of the guards, nor for my father and people to find out about my disgrace. I hid in the tree while they passed by searching for me. When they had gone, I came down thinking I could keep my secret, and finding my way to the river, washed clean my shame. Luckily, the merchants had left the rug, for inside they had forgotten my long knife, bow, and quiver. I would not have been able to explain their disappearance.”

Aragorn raised his head from the Elf’s, wiping his tears away with one hand while he hugged Legolas intimately to him with the other. “You mean no one ever found out about this? You have told no one?”

“No one but you, Estel. I fooled the sentries when they found me by telling them I had been attacked by a band of thieves to explain my injuries, and since most of the harm done to me was hidden beneath my clothes, my sentries believed me well enough. I did not speak of what happened to anyone. The sentries were not to have let me walk through Lake-town alone, so they did not question my story nor report my temporary absence to my father upon our return for fear that they would be blamed.”

“I wish you had not kept this festering secret, for you have suffered needlessly. I would help you any way that I can.” The longtime friends sat in silence for several minutes until the Ranger noted the Elf’s breathing had become shallow and his body still. Instantly alarmed, Estel bent his head down to peer into his friend’s face, but found the Elf sleeping peacefully with his eyes half-lidded and no fear or anxiety marring his fair visage. With relief, the Ranger wrapped his arms around his Elven companion, watching the moon make its nightly course across the dark sky.

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The fire had long died from inattention, so Estel slid the untethered edges of his overcoat cautiously from underneath Legolas’ sleeping form and gathered them across the Elf’s slight shoulders, such that both Elf and Ranger were protected from the cold night and sharing the other’s warmth. The Ranger did not doze, nor did he waken Legolas to keep watch for him to do so. _He sleeps peacefully. I would not disturb this slumber for both his body and heart need it desperately._ Aragorn was amazed at the dire circumstances through which Legolas had survived and that the Elf had the strength to keep his secret for so long, despite the complications that doing so had caused. _He would have told no one if we had not encountered the merchants_.

In addition to the intense love and devotion that he felt for the Silvan in his arms, the Ranger vowed to himself and to the slumbering Legolas that he would avenge the Wood-Elf’s torment. He would find Kane and slowly rip the man apart. 


	12. Chapter 12

Legolas awoke leisurely, his awareness beginning with an ache in his hip and a crick in his neck and moving outwards until he became conscious that he lay against something yielding but sturdy. For the first time in several weeks, the Silvan did not wake terrified and upset, but refreshed and calm. He could not remember why he should feel so sound and he loathed moving lest he lose the serenity that his current position afforded him. Eventually, though, his curiosity bested his desire to remain carefree and he woke himself from his dream state, stunned that he had slept at all and much more astonished that he lay against the sentient form of the only human he called friend. The sun had barely risen and the rays of light of the new dawn warmed the Silvan’s face with the loving attention nature gives all her blessed creatures.

“Slothful Elf, awaken from your dreams,” the Ranger murmured affectionately in the Prince’s elegantly pointed ear when he noted the Elf was gaining alertness.

Stretching his neck and arms outward, the Elf then curled into the Ranger’s body, pulling the Adan’s coat around him tightly as he repeated the words Estel had said to him many days ago, “I think this lazy Elf will sleep longer yet. Mayhap until lunchtime?”

Chuckling merrily at the Elf’s improved temperament and continuing the charade, Aragorn responded in mock austerity, impersonating the Prince's tone of over a week ago in saying, “Now, Elf, or I will be forced to make you rise.”

“I would like to see you try, human,” the glib Elf replied.

The healer goaded as he laughed mirthfully, “I could never succeed in persuading you to do naught but what suits you; however, as I am your current bedroll, I must protest that we move on before I turn to stone.”

“So you are a cave Troll, now?” Legolas finally pulled himself from the Ranger’s chest, sitting upright and groaning faintly because as he moved his tired muscles the pain in his hip complemented the throb in his scarred thigh. The Ranger halted the Elf’s movements summarily by grabbing the Silvan’s arm.

“Be careful, do not stretch too far. And yes, I am a cave Troll, or at least I will be soon if we do not leave this cursed mountain.”

Stretching his own cramped limbs, Aragorn yawned bearishly, eliciting a soft rebuke from Legolas. “You should have wakened me for my watch. You have gone too long with little sleep, Estel.”

Legolas rose cautiously, careful not to pull his wounds open again, and spied the human’s gaunt countenance and the dark circles of exhaustion that lay under his silver eyes. _He sacrifices too much for my welfare_ , the guilty Prince thought.

Standing also, the Ranger did not answer, but surveyed their surroundings with the cagy gaze of one accustomed to inhabiting treacherous environments. He commented decisively, “The winter will return for another snowstorm, I fear. We will need to make Rivendell ere it arrives.”

Swiftly, the Elf and Ranger broke their meager camp in comfortable silence, attuned to the familiar ritual of their travels together.

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Aragorn had observed Legolas for signs of fatigue or pain as they walked down the mountain, a feat far quicker than their ascendance. He had noted each step the Elf took, every heavy breath, and especially the state of the Prince’s façade. Although the Ranger trusted Legolas’ promise not to keep himself hidden, he did not trust the Elf to elucidate him veraciously about his well-being. _That much will never change_ , Estel had mused thoughtfully, _he will always hide his injuries to avoid appearing weak._

They had spoken little through the long day of traveling, and now, off the mountains and in a beautifully wooded area with the fiery sun nearly set, Legolas finally broke the comfortable silence. “I will find our dinner, if you will build the fire to cook it.”

Shaking his head in negation, the Ranger replied, “No, rest. I will find our dinner and firewood.” Without further argument, the human selected his bow from the heap of baggage he had just laid on the ground and started into the forest.

“Estel. You will stay here, build the fire, and remember not to order your superiors.” The Elf’s tone was uncompromising with the weight of Legolas’ princely hauteur but his eyes glimmered with gaiety. “I will obtain our dinner, for we both know we would starve ere your arrow fell any comestible prey.”

Affecting an offended demeanor as he replaced his bow, but seeing the truth in his companion’s words, for on his worst day the Wood-Elf trumped him in hunting prowess even on Estel’s best day, the Ranger huffed, “Conceited Elf. I may not move as quickly as the Silvan may, but my aim is not so poor. Besides, any game you acquire is not edible if you are cooking.”

At this statement, Elf and Ranger glared at the other for several moments until Legolas grinned widely and took off into the woods. Aragorn stared after his companion in fretful amusement. _I should not have let him go alone but I cannot coddle him,_ the healer decided before he concentrated his efforts on building a fire and making their glade suitable for the night’s stay.

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He had seen no game amongst the brush; however, unwilling to return empty-handed, Legolas ventured farther out into the forest.

_Estel will not let me live it down should I not find any game._

The Elf smiled to himself. Despite the quiet day the pair had spent, the Prince felt better than he had in weeks. Had he not been lost in his thoughts and numbed to what went on around him because of his grief, the otherwise observant Woodland being might have noticed the figure stalking him noiselessly along his way.

Unaware of his undesired company, Legolas was not prepared for the sudden assault and fell painfully to the forest floor with the tackle, his attacker quickly straddling his back to keep him down as he leant over the dumbfounded, prone Silvan to tease, “I caught you, Elfling.”

Fear coiled as a snake in the Wood-Elf’s stomach, threatening to overwhelm him with its rancorous venom. _No, never again_ , the Prince promised himself. Abruptly he bucked, ignoring the protest of his wounded belly and leg, and knocked his attacker from his back. Legolas scrambled to his knees, and then to his feet, as he reached for the long knife sequestered within its sheath. It was not there.

 _It was lost. I have forgotten._ He pulled an arrow from his quiver but ere he could let loose the projectile in his haste not to be taken, not to suffer as he had, strong arms grabbed him from behind. It was then that he noticed the being he had thrown from his back was sitting on the forest floor, gazing quizzically at him. _There are two of them_. Legolas’ tangled thoughts did not register the familiar face of his assailant. He thrashed against the confines of his captor’s hold, breaking the skin of his healing belly apart and nearly jerking his shoulder from its socket with the force of his struggles.

“It is Elladan, be at peace.”

The words were lost on the fraught Elf; Legolas was not at peace, his very spirit instructed him to fight for his survival against the perceived threat, and so the Prince dropped, bent forward, and effectively threw his attacker over his back and onto the ground beside his first assailant. With a grunt of pain, Elladan landed ungracefully beside his twin brother, his back hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Elrohir chastised the Prince immediately as he leant over his stunned sibling, “Ai, Greenleaf, that was unnecessary.”

It wasn’t until his common nickname was spoken that the Silvan truly saw the beings before him. “Elrohir?”

His gaze and hands fretting over the inert but aware body of his older sibling, Elrohir stated sarcastically, “Are we so forgettable?”

Mortified that he should have reacted so violently to those whom he considered friends, the Elf only replied despondently, “I am sorry,” before his legs gave way beneath him and he clutched the scar under his leggings forcefully. The flesh again parted, its ruby, incandescent flow restarting at the violence with which the Silvan rent his own flesh. Elrohir paid him no mind, instead turning to Elladan.

“Muindor?” Elrohir lightly shook his twin’s form, his worried, trembling tone multiplying Legolas’ guilt.

“I am fine, though I think we have startled our Woodland brother.” Smiling in relief, Elrohir deftly pulled his brother up until both were sitting, facing the forlorn Wood-Elf with identical grins on their faces.

Legolas did not respond. The Silvan’s attention lay only on the disdain with which Elrohir had verbalized his retort and the shame that overtook the Prince at the reprimand. The Prince’s anxious silence caused Elrohir to ask fretfully, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

When the Prince turned his distracted gaze to the twin Elf Lords of Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir started at the hopelessness they saw in their friend’s eyes. “Greenleaf, what is the matter? Are you injured?” Elladan moved to sit beside the kneeling Elf, and placing a hand on his forearm, felt the tense muscles as the Wood-Elf relentlessly worked the scar under his hand.

The younger twin stood behind his elder. His thoughts turning to the safety and well-being of their human sibling, who they thought to be with Legolas since to Mirkwood was where the Ranger had been going when last they’d seen him, Elrohir asked, “Where is Estel?”

The Prince found his feet in a hurry; he threw his long cloak over his thigh to hide the bloody lump of bandage under his leggings that his prying hands had ripped from the wound. _There is no need for them to know. I do not want their pity_.

He replied, “No, it is as you said. You have only startled me.” Forcing a smile, the Wood-Elf answered Elrohir by saying, “It is lucky you have found us. Estel was planning to cook our dinner. Had I caught anything but two Noldor, that is.”

Elrohir helped his brother to his feet and both twins chuckled merrily at the jibe. “The only cook worse than Estel is you,” Elrohir taunted. The three Elves laughed at the proverbial banter; they had teased one another on this topic since their friendship’s conception, long before Estel had been adopted into Lord Elrond’s family. The Prince’s laughter, however, did not ring true, but neither twin noticed in their excitement to see their human brother. Legolas led their boisterous procession back to the camp.

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 _Where is he?_ Aragorn had taken to pacing the perimeter of the glade in anxiety. _I should not have let him go._ The sound of cheerful voices halted the Ranger’s stride and he smiled in anticipation. Being this close to the valley, Estel had hoped to run into some of his father’s people, but could not have hoped to be so lucky as to be found by Elladan and Elrohir. _The twins_. Walking towards the sound of their voices, he met the three Elves at the glade’s edge.

“Estel!” Elladan enveloped his young human brother in a massive hug and then released him only for the Adan to be caught in Elrohir’s embrace next.

“We heard you were cooking, so we decided to stop you,” Elrohir teased, liberating the Ranger from his hold.

Aragorn harrumphed in mock annoyance. “Of course, so you plan to torture us with your mud and berry soup again?”

“Not fair! Elrohir didn’t think you would actually eat it.” With a playful shove, Elladan pushed the Ranger towards the fire, saying, “Besides, we fear for Legolas’ health with you as cook.”

Turning to face the Prince, Aragorn saw that Legolas was not paying attention to the teasing, but was staring off into the woods, rubbing his hands together absently with a strained expression.

“What are we having then, brother, since Legolas felled no game?” Elladan’s query went unheard by the Ranger, who was too busy observing the restless, fidgeting Prince several feet away. “Estel?”

“Yes?” Aragorn whipped about to face the twins, while unsure of who had spoken. The two Noldor stood together by the fire, their identical dark heads and incisive green eyes watching Aragorn and the Prince.

“Is everything alright? You and Legolas both appear to be on edge,” Elrohir asked of his human sibling.

The Ranger glanced at the Wood-Elf. _I do not know if all is well. I am sure he does not want you to know. He wouldn’t have told me, had I not been there to see the depravities._

Aloud, the human only evaded his brother’s question, unwilling to say more than he felt Legolas would be comfortable with the twins knowing – at least until the Prince decided to tell them himself. “We ran into a band of Orcs yesterday. They killed our mount; we have been walking towards Imladris all day. I can only speak for myself, but I am sure Legolas is as tired as I am.”

“Yrch? You may well have encountered those that we have been tracking for the past two days. How did you fare?” Elladan sat beside the fire as he spoke, keeping his eyes, the Ranger noted, on the distracted Legolas.

“They are all dead, if that is what you mean,” Estel replied, watching Elrohir join Elladan in sitting by the fire before the Ranger moved to stand beside the Prince, gently clasping his arm to guide him to the fire, also. Legolas followed the Ranger’s gesticulatory instructions without recognizing the presence of the man beside him and sat with his three friends, though he paid them no heed.

“That is not what he meant. How do you fare, brother Wood-Elf and brother human? You are both uninjured, I take it?” Elrohir pulled from his pocket a flask of water and passed it to his twin without Elladan having asked for it.

“I am uninjured, yes.” Aragorn paused. He knew the twins would mother the Prince should they discover that Legolas had obtained a stomach wound in the battle, and while usually their mothering was irritating, the Ranger did not think Legolas could withstand a barrage of questions and prodding at the moment. He would not lie to his brothers, though, and so the Ranger merely omitted Legolas’ health while hoping that the twins would not notice his oversight. Aragorn was not so fortunate.

“And you, Greenleaf?” Elrohir reclaimed his now empty water flask to place back under the folds of his cloak. He turned to the Prince when he did not answer immediately. “Greenleaf, how do you fare?”

“I am well,” the Silvan lied.

It was not at all unusual for the proud Prince to hide his wounds but it upset the Ranger that Legolas could not be honest with his brothers. _It is no small injury he hides. Despair eats at him still and if he would not tell Elladan and Elrohir, then I fear he would not tell Ada so that he may help him._

Much to the young human’s surprise, though, Legolas continued after the twins both shot him identical glares of disbelief, looks that the Silvan did not even notice as he stared into the fire. “I gained a wound from an Orc’s blade. Estel has seen to it already.”

“Ai Valar! I have further injured you, have I not?” Elrohir’s guilty petition confused the Ranger, who had not yet heard how the twins and Legolas had met in the woods.

“Let us see,” Elladan commanded, his voice transforming into an amazing facsimile of their Ada’s demanding tone when he was tending a patient. Both twins scooted closer to the Prince. Aragorn almost intervened, but Legolas’ amused smile stopped him.

 _He is unafraid,_ the human contemplated, but as the twins raised Legolas’ shirt and began to prod the bloody bandage over the Prince’s stomach, he realized when noting his friend’s trembling, albeit smiling form, _No, not unafraid. He has decided to try, though._

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“What happened, brothers?” Aragorn peered worriedly across the small campfire, a perplexed expression furrowing his brow.

Elrohir turned, smiling sheepishly while Elladan wound clean linen about the Prince's belly. “We were hunting for dinner ourselves when we heard someone rustling the brush to scare out game. Seeing that it was Greenleaf, I decided to take him by surprise. It is not often one is able to sneak upon a Wood-Elf in the forest!”

Elladan glared at his brother. “If I hadn’t been there, his arrow would have found your fool head."

Sitting quietly, a bemused grin on his fair face, Legolas huffed in a flash of sincere delight before he added, “You are indeed lucky, silly Noldo, for I do not miss.” His three close friends laughed at his familiar jest.

 _It is good to be amongst friends,_ Legolas decided. For now, the twins’ mothering did not bother him.

“What wound is this?” Elrohir pointed to the bloodied leggings above his scar.

 _I had forgotten._ The Elf had again lost feeling throughout his limbs, though it did not bother him. The numbness was comforting to him; it kept him from feeling not only the ache of his scar and wounds, but the misery the memories of his captivity and torment brought him each time they resurfaced.

“It has opened again,” Aragorn stated, standing and crossing the small distance between them to insert himself between the twins and Legolas. Elladan and Elrohir watched with curiosity as their brother knelt next to the Prince. “I thought you would leave it be,” the healer reprimanded.

Legolas grinned peculiarly, promising, “I will leave it be.” Catching the puzzled expressions of Elrohir and Elladan, the Prince explained, “It is a long story.” _I do not want to be frightened any longer,_ the Prince decided, and so promised, “I will tell you, my friends.”

The words flew from the Prince’s mouth as though they had been enslaved within him, struggling to free themselves from the unusually darkened confines of his spirit. Legolas was not listening to his own story; his eyes inspected the campfire over Aragorn’s shoulder casually, ignoring the increasingly concerned faces of the twins. The Ranger, who had already heard this poignant account, never removed his own grey orbs from Legolas. The Elf could feel the human’s gaze on him.

Unconsciously wringing his hands, the Prince focused on relating the events accurately, noting that the longer he talked, the more deadened he became and the more he longed to seize his marred thigh. _Perhaps this is forgetting. Perhaps this is moving on._ Sparing a glance at Elrohir and Elladan, Legolas was awed by the identical expressions of loving worry each held for him. _Others would judge me. The twins will not, nor Estel._

Vaguely, he was aware that he told them of what happened when he and Aragorn met up with the merchants. He spoke succinctly, and though his story was brief, the bare events themselves were enough insight into his torture without sharing the sordid details. He did not tell them of the poison, or of his reaction, nor did he mention what occurred afterward, of his unconsciousness and torment.

_They do not need to hear such depravities. Would that I could have saved Estel from knowing, too._

Only through the omission of his extreme anguish did he lie to the twins; he did not believe it necessary that they know the minutiae of his suffering and so kept his explanation to a minimum. Altogether, he seemed indifferent and cold to his observers. While they believed him to be hiding his distress, the Prince did indeed feel cold and indifferent to his recent woe. The silence following his cessation of speaking did not disrupt Legolas’ preoccupied pondering. A long, flabbergasted quietude ensued until Elrohir sprang from his seated position and crouched beside the Prince. Elladan followed suit seconds later; the twins sat on either side of him while Aragorn sat in front.

“Greenleaf?” The Prince looked up from the fire, surprised that the twins had moved without his noticing. His calm gaze met Elrohir’s as the Noldo declared gently, “I am sorry. No one deserves what you have endured, but least of all you.” Elladan said nothing, though he joined his brother in wrapping the Prince in their arms, cautious not to squeeze him too tightly because of his wounds, but embracing him firmly nevertheless. Elrohir pulled back abruptly, crying out softly as he castigated himself, “Ai Valar! And I tackled you thoughtlessly in the forest!”

The Prince observed himself hugging the upset Elf, assuring him with a forced smile, “Worry not, Elrohir. No harm was done.”

“But Legolas –” Elladan had taken his brother’s scolding tone.

“Come now, brothers. Leave him be. He needs rest and a new bandage on his thigh,” Aragorn instructed, tugging his siblings away from the Prince. The twins moved only inches, not wanting to leave the Prince’s side. Legolas only smiled oddly, the mirth evident in his visage never quite reaching his dulled, cobalt eyes.

 _I could not even sense their arms about me. Although I am sure I am happy they are here, I do not feel it._ Legolas shook his head, trying to clear the confusing thoughts from his mind while watching Aragorn search for a water flask. _I feel no fear but nor do I feel joy at the presence of my three closest companions. I feel nothing. Nothing but the scar._ It took all of his will not to fondle the marred flesh of his thigh, for he longed to experience the pain doing so would cause. _The pain, at least, is better than nothing._

“We are out of water,” the Ranger stated, holding his and Legolas’ last flask upside down and shaking it as corroboration. The last few drops of liquid fell out onto the grass of the forest floor.

“No bother, brother. There is a brook a short distance from here, next to our own camp. Let us go fill our flasks, for ours are empty, also.” Elrohir stood, gathering his cloak about him before lending Legolas and then his twin a hand in rising.

Legolas seized the opportunity, querying the twins, “Have you any extra clothing?” Gesturing down to his Orc-blood covered clothing, the Silvan continued, “I would like a bath before we reach Imladris. It is as Estel has said; I am more Orc blood than Elf at the moment.”

The twins laughed lightly, unsurely. They were not yet over the gruesome tale the Wood-Elf had told them and Legolas’ imperviousness to his own tragedy while telling it and his current jesting mood made them both unreservedly anxious about his welfare.

“Of course. Why do we not move to our camp? We return empty-handed for dinner, I am afraid, but we’ve lembas and cured meat. Tomorrow we can leave for home. Luckily, we brought our mounts, so before nightfall of tomorrow we can be in the valley,” Elladan replied ere he helped Estel gather their belongings.

Legolas noticed Elrohir staring at him with palpable concern. The Noldo moved to him, placing his arm around the Prince’s shoulders affably as they walked from the clearing, leaving Elladan and Aragorn to disassemble the campsite. “You seem to be recovering well,” he began in a knowing whisper. “But you do not fool me, Greenleaf. We will speak more of this for I know you have not told us the entire story. You are pushing your fear away, not confronting it. No good will come of hiding from yourself.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Legolas argued, but his heart was not in it. The Noldo did not respond and together they walked in amicable, albeit abnormal silence to the twins’ camp. The Noldorin brothers knew him better than most and so the younger twin's words rang true to the Wood-Elf's ears.

_I am trying, my friend._

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Aragorn and Elladan quickly extinguished the fire, packed the meager belongings the Prince and Ranger had carried with them, and returned the clearing back to some semblance of normalcy. The human’s joy at seeing his brothers was dampened by Legolas’ detached attitude.

_He spoke his torment as if he had not lived it._

“Estel?” The Ranger turned to his brother, hefting the last of their baggage over his shoulder. Elladan paused, grappling with his thoughts as they walked. “There is more to Legolas’ story, is there not? He seemed unaffected by what has happened and yet he must surely be in misery. He told naught of his sorrow. An Elf does not endure what Legolas has endured and suffer no consequences from it. The rhaw may recuperate quickly but the faer is slower to heal.”

Aragorn conceded sullenly, “There is more. It is well that he told you at all, brother, for he did not tell me until he had no choice, after his second encounter with the foul merchants. He has left out much of his torture, acts I could not bear to repeat.” The human sighed, resuming his revelation, “I do not understand his aloofness. Last night he wept and this morning he smiled as though nothing had ever happened. Now he seems deprived of any emotion.”

Nodding his head, Elladan comforted the young human, “I suppose I do not know what has truly befallen him or what he suffers because of it, but do not worry. We cannot expect our Greenleaf to be himself now.”

Acknowledging the soothing words with a snort, the Ranger touted, “Legolas will be aided when we reach Imladris; Ada will not allow him to bear his ordeal alone.” With replenished optimism, the Ranger shoved his sibling playfully, inciting a pushing match that lasted until they reached the twins’ camp a few minutes later to find Elrohir sitting alone, brooding thoughtfully.


	13. Chapter 13

Legolas longed to revel in the sensation of the water flowing over his nimble body. He had convinced Elrohir to leave him to bathe alone only by his promising to both fill the flasks and be back soon, a promise the Prince intended to keep, though only partially.

_Why can I not feel the water?_

The brook had turned out to be little more than a rivulet of fresh water, but Legolas did not care. He cared for little, he realized, as he tried to take pleasure in one of his favorite diversions – bathing. After removing his dirty bandages and clothing, and then carefully unwinding the clean linen the twins had just wrapped about his belly, Legolas had kept the barely soiled linen while tossing the rest into a pile to throw into the fire upon his return. He had filled the flasks – his, Aragorn’s, and the twins’ – and now he languished in the water, trying with all his might to recapture the sensation of water running over his nude flesh, letting the purifying fluid sluice away the blood – his own and that of the Orc. Scooping another handful of water into his hands, the Elf tossed it into his face to evoke the pacifying feeling of doing so, a sensation he had felt more times than the Silvan could hope to count.

_Can I feel nothing?_

He splashed the liquid over his torso and tried to enjoy it traveling down his form. The Elf cried desperately aloud, his dolor overcoming his desire to get clean. He did not feel dirty; he did not feel the merchants’ hands or deeds had tainted him – Legolas felt nothing. Unconsciously, he gripped his thigh, pressuring the scar until it resumed its silvery, rubicund seepage. Finally, Legolas felt.

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“Where is Greenleaf?” The Ranger was concerned that the Prince was not with Elrohir; however, he knew his brother would allow Legolas to come to no harm and so pushed away the fears he felt for the Wood-Elf's safety.

“He is bathing and collecting water. I did not want to disturb him,” Elrohir explicated as he stared thoughtfully into the blazing fire he had lit upon his and the Prince’s arrival earlier. "He needed to be alone.”

Elladan sat beside his twin after he had snatched a satchel from its place in the branch of a tall oak tree, removing from it a wafer of lembas and cured meat. The former he broke into quarters, tossing one part to Aragorn, who had seated himself by the fire, and the latter he passed to Elrohir while he questioned, “Do you believe he is well?”

The question was directed to no one in particular but Elrohir replied, “No. He has removed himself from what has happened and from his despair.”

"As he has always done," the elder twin responded as he crumbled his portion of waybread into pieces before tossing the bits into his mouth.

Aragorn said naught. _He will be better. I will make sure of it._ The Ranger wanted nothing more than to see the merriness return to his most beloved companion’s eyes. _This will not be the end of Legolas Thranduilion. I will not allow it._

The brothers sat in silence for several long moments, each contemplating his own thoughts on their shared friend before Estel stood and grabbed his satchel full of herbs and linen as he stalked from the camp. “I need to rebandage his leg,” he explained tersely. Not waiting for a response, for he was certain the twins would ask him to leave the Wood-Elf to his own devices, the Ranger followed the sound of water until he met the sight of the Silvan bathing.

Nothing compared to the vision before him. Legolas stood nude in the shallow water, his long, smooth, and lithe legs, the gentle swell of the Elf's rear and the muscled, lean expanse of the Elf's back – long had Aragorn desired to feel the pale Elven skin beneath his calloused hands with a touch different from that of a friend or healer. The Ranger held himself in check, however, as he always had, for he was afraid of his own lust for his most valued friend and of Legolas’ reaction.

The Prince had not heard him, which was unusual for the Wood-Elf, but the Silvan was obviously lost in his thoughts and continued his bathing, cupping the clear liquid into his palms as he splashed himself with the water. Legolas rubbed the fluid over his sculptured torso and arms, his skin as radiantly pale as the moonlight, and moved his hands languorously down his slim hips and over the muscled flesh of his lower abdomen until Aragorn nearly groaned with longing. _What has become of me that I would desire my best friend in his most dire time of need?_

The Ranger could not help himself from interrupting when he witnessed Legolas cry out as he grabbed his scarred thigh tightly, digging his fingers into the wound in desperation. For what cause the Ranger did not know, but he bounded forwards, not noticed by his Woodland companion until he had seized the Elf in his arms from behind, coalescing their bodies into one complementary form during the Silvan’s fall to the rock-strewn, shallow creek bed.

“What is it? Does it pain you?” If the Elf was disturbed by the sudden appearance or closeness of the Ranger, he did not show it. Instinctively, the human enfolded his companion in his arms lovingly. The embrace lasted only a few seconds because the disconsolate Prince drew back to face the Ranger.

“What is wrong with me?” Legolas searched the healer’s face for answers but found none and so turned his own gaze away in disgrace.

“Tell me what has happened,” the Ranger demanded simply, as he fought the urge to glance downwards at the Elf’s nudity.

“I cannot get clean.” Abruptly, Legolas noticed his nakedness but Aragorn’s hand stayed him from jumping to the bank for his clothing. In bygone times, the Silvan would not have been bothered at all by being nude in front of his Adan friend.

 _Does he feel as though the men have tainted him forever?_ The human tried to muster a reassuring smile, but he was distracted by the beauty of the laegel before him, which caused him shame for being so taken in by Legolas’ appearance when he should be focused on aiding the Silvan. “You are clean. Their vile deeds will not stain you unless you let them.”

“No, Estel. That is not what I meant,” the Elf countered but seemed at a loss to clarify. The Prince shook his head discontentedly. “I cannot feel clean.” Seeing Estel’s confusion, Legolas explained futilely, his blue eyes desperately seeking understanding from the human, “I cannot feel the water. I cannot feel clean.”

 _He speaks in circles._ The Ranger placed his hands on his companion’s shoulders, ignoring the smooth texture of the Elf’s skin and the solid muscles underneath. “I do not understand. Can you not feel me?” Seeing the Prince nod his head affirmatively, Aragorn moved his hands to the water at his now soaked knees, his eyes never straying from the Elf’s panic-stricken gaze. He cupped the liquid in his palms, brought it to Legolas' shoulder, and trickled the water over the Silvan’s cream-colored skin. “Can you feel it?”

With a quick sigh that ended on a near whimper, Legolas told his Adan friend, “No. All I can feel is pain.”

The odd words so unnerved the Ranger that he flung the remaining water far from the Elf’s skin, its pattering on the soft grass of the bank the only sound in this part of the secluded forest. _What ailment is this?_

Worriedly, he inquired, “The water pains you?”

“No, I mean that I can only feel the pain from the scar. It is all I feel. I cannot enjoy the company of you and the twins, nor the cleansing water. It is though I am dead inside.” Legolas hung his head, his hand moving to his thigh to knead the flesh.

_Elrohir is right._

Pulling the Elf’s slim fingers from again breaking the already much molested wound, Aragorn had a sudden flash of inspiration, and declared, “But you could feel me, could you not? I mean, you felt when I touched you?”

_Now we both speak in circles._

The Elf raised his head, his eyes narrowed in attentiveness. “Yes.”

Aragorn ladled another handful of water over the Elf’s shoulders, this time slicking the skin with his roughened hands, down the Elf’s arms. Suddenly, Legolas beamed in relief and the Ranger looked into the Elf’s eyes, seeing the simple pleasure that the Prince felt and was gladdened to be the cause of it. Smiling himself, Estel reached for more water.

_There are worse favors one could ask than bathing Legolas’ beautiful body._

“This is twice you have washed me, Estel,” the laegel said evenly, his face alight with his pleasure at the sensations of the water washing away the Orc blood and dirt from their travels, of mere feeling, it seemed to Aragorn. Legolas loved the water like Thranduil loved his wine, like the twins loved mischief, and like Estel loved Legolas.

Stunned that the Elf remembered the first time the Ranger had washed him, when he had cleansed Legolas’ broken, abused body after the merchants’ tormenting him, the Adan teased lightly to change the sorrowful subject as he brought his handful of water to the Prince’s chest, “I prefer these circumstances, Greenleaf.” The Wood-Elf’s grin grew as the Ranger smoothed the liquid over his chest but began to chuckle when Estel’s fingers ran over his ribs. The man rolled his eyes, saying in a tone that was a fair facsimile of one of the twins’ needling voices while making one of their many witticisms, “If your ribs didn’t stick out so far, you wouldn’t be so ticklish.”

“That is your doing.” Legolas paused, waiting for the Ranger to look at him ere he delivered his barb, “It is your cooking. I would be better off with Elrohir’s mud and berry soup.” Laughing at the mock hurt on the Ranger’s face, the Prince’s suddenly lively demeanor buoyed Aragorn’s concern, and he finally let go, losing himself in his friend’s laughter with unconcealed relief.

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 _This is mad,_ the Elf worried as his laughter faded. He considered the Ranger in front of him. _I do not know how much longer I can withstand this._

It was not fear that caused the Elf to battle his treacherous body; it was the loving touch of the human he thought of as one of his best friends and trusted allies that caused his flesh to shiver. Estel’s coarsened but gentle hands gliding over his chest, around his sides, down his arms, and across his shoulders sent undulating jolts of pleasure through the Elf’s body. It did not bother the Silvan that he sat exposed in front of his friend, except in that he was afraid of his reaction to the seemingly platonic touch of the human.

 _Long have I desired this, I think, but had no notion that this is what I desired,_ the Prince mused, for until recent times he had never felt physical lust, _but I would not lose Aragorn’s friendship for my wanton needs._ Had he known the Ranger underwent the same torment, neither would have held such doubts.

“Turn around and I will wash your back.” The Ranger spoke tonelessly, as though he were washing a dish, not the elegant Elf before him.

Silently, the Elf obeyed and was relieved that should his response to Aragorn’s touch be more than merely friendly, he would now be able to hide it. _I would stop this folly if not for my desire to be clean,_ Legolas lied to himself, well aware that it was the sensation of the human’s hands that quelled his reason. _Estel does not desire me such and I would not pervert him in this way._

The Prince of Mirkwood did not wonder why he felt nothing but his friend’s hands. He could heed nothing but the currents of lust wracking his resolve to stay his body’s reaction. He had felt some degree of numbness for such a long time after being attacked in Lake-town that his feeling now was heightened, much the same as plain food may taste delicious after one has been starved for sustenance. As the Ranger’s hands and the cool water traveled across his back, down his sides and past his hips to the swell of his rear, so intense was his pleasure that the Elf could not help but quiver; he choked back a groan of delight. The worried Ranger summarily stopped his movements.

“Did I hurt you?” the human queried.

Estel’s voice sounded so concerned, so devoted to the Wood-Elf’s well-being that Legolas could do naught but lean back into the origin of so soothing a voice. As his back hit the cloak of the human behind him, Legolas felt the healer stiffen for a split second, but soon Estel melded his own form against the Prince’s body, swathing the Elf in his arms as he wrenched Legolas against him. Never before had the Prince felt as safe, loved, or needy. Aragorn nuzzled his face in the blonde tresses on the side of the Elf’s neck, under his ear, his breath hot on the Prince’s skin.

“Legolas,” the human whispered in confusion, his heartbeat a crescendo of testament to his own desire.

The overwhelmed Wood-Elf did not reply. His numbness now eradicated, Legolas savored the consistency of the leather-clad arms clutching him, the swirling water running over and around his knees and calves as he knelt in the creek bed. Closing his eyes in absorption, the Elf squirmed, moving his hips backwards between the spread knees of the Ranger, arranging himself so that his nude rear no longer rested on the soles of his feet but on Aragorn’s lap. The Ranger, he noted with a burst of aroused delight, moaned feverishly at the pressure on his groin. The ferocity with which the Elf thrust his hips back against the man in response nearly caused them both to crash backwards into the eddies of the gurgling, cool water.

_What am I doing?_

Even as he questioned his intentions, Legolas shifted his once anesthetized form against the man behind him, enjoying thoroughly the stubble of Estel’s beard on the flesh of his throat, the labored breath blowing by his sensitive ear. Under the lacings and cloth of Aragorn’s trousers, the Prince could feel the Adan’s manhood. Without thinking, the laegel salaciously slid his rear across the swelling flesh; the Elf exhaled sharply when the Ranger’s embrace loosened. Aragorn did not remove himself entirely, but began to stroke Legolas’ honed stomach with his fingertips, exploring the tight muscles in small circles while he moaned again into the Elf’s neck. The fingers tread upwards, moving across Legolas’ pronounced ribcage, the sensation no longer ticklish in the fervor of his craving. The Wood-Elf turned his head to where Aragorn’s head rested on his shoulder, seeking to taste the breath that inflamed his excitement with each scorching exhale. The human must have sensed this yearning; he craned his neck to reach the Elf’s mouth. Their position did not afford them the ability to join lips, so the Ranger planted enticing kisses wherever he could reach, lapping the tender skin under Legolas’ jaw where the bone curved under his ear.

He had known the Adan since Estel was a child, but he loved him for the man he was now. Having been bereft in his grief, benumbed and comfortless, and loving the human as he did, Legolas could never have responded so keenly to anyone but Estel.

When the human’s fingers grazed the Elf’s rigid, flushed nipples, Legolas bucked backwards, arching his back to press his chest into the man’s roaming hands. Aragorn teased the taut buds and skimmed his fingernails over the aroused flesh as he assaulted the Prince’s neck with his fervid lips. In the heightened pleasure he experienced, Legolas instinctively squirmed his rear against Aragorn’s lap until the man was panting for air. Abandoning the Elf’s roused nipples, the Ranger flattened his palms against his companion’s chest, caressing down Legolas’ wet torso unhurriedly, over his stomach and navel, mindful of Legolas’ wound, and around to the Elf’s hips until his hands changed direction, stroking the skin upwards ere traveling down again.

“I want you, Greenleaf,” the healer murmured desperately into the Prince’s ear, lavishing the pointed tip with a glancing kiss.

The uttered longing overpowered any misgivings Legolas held and he responded with impassioned vehemence, “You can have me.”

The Elf could not think; he could only feel. The emotions and lust the man inspired within him had been ignored for too long for his body to halt what his heart dreaded was wrong. For too long had he watched the Ranger from afar, for too long had he ignored his chances for such intimacy, and for too long had the Elf denied these feelings for his longtime friend.

Aragorn’s hands drifted from Legolas’ stomach to his navel. This time they did not move to his hips but wandered down into the nest of blond curls that surrounded the Elf’s arousal. The man taunted the Prince with his fingertips, never quite touching the erect shaft that quivered each time Aragorn’s fingers foraged close to its base. Legolas groaned in abject hunger. He slipped his arms behind him, fondling the human’s thighs and hips. Estel cupped in one hand the tightened sacs under the Elf’s shaft, rolling the sacs gently in his palm as he stroked the underside of Legolas’ shaft with his thumb. His other hand he ran languorously along the inside of the Elf’s thigh. The Prince cried out softly in pleasure.

Abruptly, the Adan stopped his attentions, removed his hands from the Elf’s body, and extricated himself from Legolas' grasp. He pulled the Prince’s arm, prompting the disappointed Elf to turn around to face the human. Legolas feared what the man might say. He asked himself again, _What are you doing? Are you so low that you would seduce your friend?_ A tirade of self-hatred ran through the Elf’s mind in the few seconds it took him to settle himself on the rocky, cold brook bed. Legolas did not look up. He did not want to see the revulsion or rejection in the human’s eyes; so instead, he watched the moonlit water flow past his legs and fought the urge to cover his naked arousal.

Without preamble, Aragorn’s hand shot out, cradling Legolas’ cheek and tilting his face such that the Elf could not help but meet the man’s gaze. What he saw there stunned him. The human appeared on the verge of tears, but before Legolas’ guilty conscience could concoct his culpability in his companion’s apparent melancholy, the Ranger spoke, leaning his face in to the Wood-Elf’s as he sighed, “I love you, Greenleaf,” before he pressed his lips to the Silvan’s astonished mouth.

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Aragorn’s mouth opened slightly, his tongue slipping out to lick the sweet nectar of Legolas’ lips. The Ranger was as astounded as the Elf that he had spoken his unfathomable love; until he had heard the words, Estel had not consciously admitted his emotions even to himself. He could not have imagined continuing without the Elf knowing how he felt for him. At first, the Ranger panicked when Legolas did not return his kiss and he feared he might have upset the laegel. He had been overcome with lust while helping the wounded Elf bathe and could never have anticipated that the Prince would respond as he had when it had not yet been a fortnight since their encounter with the merchants. Moreover, the human had never suspected the Elf would want him, not even before their recent tragedy. He was nothing but a Ranger, a human, and male, at that. Legolas had never expressed any desire or lust – not for any Elf, for that matter, male or female. Estel would never have let himself hope, except in his most private dreams, that Legolas would return his affection.

Panic, however, turned to delight when Legolas placed his hands on the Adan’s shoulders to draw the human closer to him as he parted his lips ardently, his own slick tongue exploring the Ranger’s mouth. The Elf’s hands slid down the human’s shoulders, delving between the flaps of his overcoat and caressing the muscled chest underneath the cloth of Aragorn’s tunic, tugging at the hem of the material to expose the flesh beneath. Never releasing his hold of the Prince’s mouth, the Ranger slipped his overcoat from his shoulders and tossed it to the bank carelessly. Legolas’ hands slithered under the human’s tunic, causing the Ranger to moan into his beloved’s mouth as the Silvan’s long, strong fingers kneaded his stomach ere rushing upwards to his chest, where the Elf pressed his palms against the Ranger’s heart.

Breaking the kiss, Legolas leant back to stare the man in the eye as they both gasped for breath.

The raging desire the Ranger had felt dawdled in his veins, becoming a lethargic yearning to show the Elf his love, not his lust. Aragorn beamed, standing as he pulled the Elf gently to his feet, and then guided the Prince by the hand out of the water and onto the bank where his leather overcoat lay. The Ranger removed his tunic, ignoring the bite of the wintry air on his wet, bare chest. He sat on the overcoat, holding his hand out to the nude Elf and admiring the incandescent, milky skin of his companion as the Prince seated himself beside the Ranger.

 _I cannot believe he is here beside me,_ the Ranger thought absently, his mind distracted by the elegant being perched by him.

Legolas traced the sinew of the man’s back serenely while Aragorn unlaced his trousers, freeing his member to the cool night. Not wasting any time, the Elf shoved the human softly down onto the ground, took over the task of removing Aragorn's trousers with a shy smile, and yanked the cloth free after eliminating the obstacle of the human’s boots. Just as the Ranger had teased the Elf’s arousal by evading touching it directly, the Prince smoothed his hands from the human’s calves up his thighs and over his abdomen, combing his pale fingers through the light layer of dark curls that covered Aragorn’s chest and then trailing the path down to the man’s sex. The Ranger growled in frustration but did not move. He would let Legolas determine the cadence of their pleasure.

Leaning down, the Elf began to place chaste kisses along the human’s inner thigh, progressing slowly upwards, moving from thigh to thigh in his journey to the man’s shaft. Upon reaching the rigid column of flesh, Legolas ignored it to worry instead with his tongue the fold where Aragorn’s torso met his upper leg. Unwittingly, however, the Elf’s flaxen hair brushed against the Ranger’s engorged shaft with every movement of his head and the human had difficulty breathing from the ecstasy of it. The laegel lapped the flesh upwards as he moved his body upwards, tasting the human’s navel, stomach, and finally reaching the Adan’s chest. Crouched over Estel, resting his lithe body lightly over the human’s, and sliding his shaft along Aragorn’s in tantalizingly small bursts of movement, Legolas claimed the man’s lips with zeal.

Aragorn savored the pressure of the Elf across his chest and navel; however, the sensations that stole his heaving breath erupted from the friction between his and his lover’s arousals. His hands brushed the length of the Elf’s svelte back, sliding across his tight rear in increasing frenzy as Legolas continued to rotate his hips in slow circles. When Elf and man finally broke their heartfelt kiss for air, the Prince queried with a hint of fearful hesitancy, the Ranger noted, “Do you desire to take me, Estel?”

The words devastated the Ranger; he did not wish his beloved ever to feel afraid and he understood the reasons for the Elf’s worry. As Elrohir had said, the Prince’s body may have healed but his faer had not. “I would never take anything of you except that which you desire me to have,” Estel stated compassionately, his hands drifting to hold the Prince’s face as he spoke. “We can find our pleasure in other ways, if you wish to continue.”

Legolas only nodded and smiled in response, unable to hide his relief. His lips against the Elf’s, the Ranger slid his hand between their bodies, stroking the Prince’s chest and navel along his way until he met their touching shafts, his hand wrapping around the two shafts loosely, pressing the hardened flesh together. Immediately, the Elf moaned and shifted his weight so that he knelt on one knee, still resting his form against the human’s body. The Ranger began a slow massage, kneading the rigid columns, the sweet abrasion of their arousals eliciting groans of pleasure from both Elf and man. Legolas resumed his hold of the Ranger’s mouth, sliding his tongue past the Ranger’s in tempo to Aragorn’s stroking hand while brushing his long, white fingers against the human’s chest. The bliss was almost too much for the man. The sexual pleasure was only secondary to his gratification at sharing the fruition of his long held love for the Elf.

Legolas’ shaft slipped from his hand as the Prince shifted how he knelt, his hands running the length of Aragorn’s body as he positioned himself between the Ranger’s knees. The human had never seen a more striking vision than that of the nude Elf peering down on him, his fair face flushed with lust and adoration. The Prince grinned bashfully, reminding Aragorn that the Elf had never had a lover before, as he himself had never had.

However, the call of their bodies was enough to move the Prince into action, and he leant over the man’s arousal, placing a chaste kiss at its quivering top before glancing up at Estel, who moaned his encouragement. Legolas grinned wider, his assurance of the man’s pleasure in his actions spurring him to continue. Gently, the Elf seized the base of the shaft before him, held the unyielding flesh motionless as he continued placing innocent kisses down its length, and then moved his attentions upwards again. Aragorn was having difficulty maintaining his poise and not thrusting against the Elf’s machinations. At last, the Silvan placed his mouth on the Ranger’s shaft, swirling his tongue about its head while cupping the tight sacs beneath in his free hand, and rolling them tenderly between his fingers. A sheet of blond hair fell upon the human’s stomach and thighs, barring his view of his lover, and so Aragorn pushed the damp hair back, for he was eager to touch the source of his immeasurable pleasure in any way he could and he wanted to watch the Prince, to make sure that Legolas was well.

When the Elf began to accept the length of the Ranger’s solid arousal farther into his mouth, Estel began to pant vigorously at the sensations swelling inside him. Legolas moved his tongue in twirling caresses around Aragorn’s manhood even as he began to move his head slowly up and down Estel’s shaft, taking in more each time, until he removed the hand with which he had kept the arousal steady, and he was imbibing the length boldly. Voraciously, the Elf suckled the Adan, his pace increasing with Aragorn’s augmented moans of delight. The Prince’s hands commenced roaming the Ranger’s body, rubbing the inside of Aragorn’s thigh with one while stretching up to smooth over his stomach and torso with the other, all the while never ceasing his attentiveness to the Ranger’s arousal.

His muscles tightening, Estel grabbed the Elf’s hand that lay on his chest, holding the long, white fingers against his hammering heart, while he devotedly called out his lover’s name when Legolas brought him release.

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Legolas looked up from his place between the Ranger’s legs, admiring the human’s body, which was rosy from the effort and joy of their lovemaking. He could feel Aragorn’s rapid heartbeat beneath where his hand lay on the Ranger’s chest.

 _He is beautiful,_ Legolas mused, besieged with adulation for the compassionate, tender human, whom the Elf had ever loved, though perhaps not as he felt now. Estel’s eyes were closed, his breathing not yet returned to normal, when the Elf stretched out beside his companion on the leather overcoat. Unconsciously, the Prince licked his lips and enjoyed the salty taste of his lover’s seed as he propped his head on one elbow, tracing languorously the muscles on the man’s chest in pleased patience. _I hope he recovers,_ the Elf thought, watching the man regain his breath.

Abruptly, the Ranger’s eyes opened, the lust and fire within them not yet spent, it seemed to Legolas, as the human rolled to his side, facing the Elf and mimicking his position such that both lay on their sides, heads propped on their hands.

“I thought you had fallen asleep on me, human,” the Prince teased, brushing the Ranger’s hair from his eyes with a deft flick of his wrist. Aragorn smiled fuzzily, not yet altogether aware of the present. He was, however, awake and conscious that his lover had not yet found fulfillment. The Ranger brushed his lips across Legolas’ forehead, his free hand lazily running down the Elf’s side to his hip where it stayed.

With deep affection did the human gently nip the Prince’s neck, as he replied, “Not asleep.” Legolas laughed merrily in response, thoroughly amused at his lover’s inability to think clearly; however, his laughter turned to a growl of more than amusement when the Ranger quit nuzzling the Elf’s neck to lavish his chest with sweeping arcs of his tongue. The sensation of the man’s tongue rolling across his nipples caused the Prince to press against the Ranger’s exploring mouth, pushing his breast against Aragorn’s lips.

The hand on his hip moved downwards, stroking the outside of his thigh before moving to his lower back, where the human began to knead the Elf’s rear lightly. Knowing Estel would ask nothing of him that he did not desire to give and honestly too aroused to consider being afraid, the Silvan allowed himself to relish in the feeling of the man’s hand stimulating his rear, manipulating his willing flesh. The hand never left its task as the man made his way farther down his lover’s body, peppering the Wood-Elf’s chest and stomach with kisses until he came to the firmness of the Prince’s shaft.

The Ranger lifted Legolas’ leg, draping it over his shoulder as he situated himself between the Silvan's legs. The Prince still lay on his side, as did Aragorn, which allowed the man to reach underneath the leg he had lain over his shoulder, between the Elf’s legs, to resume his massage of Legolas’ firm, spread rear. Only then did the Adan begin his attentions to the rigid arousal that stood proudly before his waiting mouth by licking the shaft’s base. Aragorn slid his tongue up the Elf’s member, paying special consideration to its responsive underside, as he slithered his fingertips betwixt the cleft of the Elf’s rear, caressing the sensitive skin nimbly.

 _Sweet Eru,_ the laegel implored, not wanting the man to stop. Using the hand he had been supporting himself with, the Ranger sought the Elf’s nipples, tugging the flushed buds between his fingers. Legolas grumbled; the onslaught on his shaft, chest, and rear caused his blood to boil with desire.

The human finally took the Elf’s length in his mouth, closing his lips around its girth and sucking tenderly on the adamantine member as he slipped his fingers closer to the nexus of the Prince’s desire, his fingertips glancing across the starburst opening between the Elf’s sprawled rear. The Elf moaned wantonly, thrusting his hips back and forwards, intent on increasing the friction between the man’s fingers on his aperture and Aragorn’s mouth on his shaft. Legolas curled in on himself so he could reach to wind his fingers through the man’s hair, pulling it unintentionally when Aragorn moaned, the vibrations of the Adan’s mouth around his shaft sending shivers of delight through the Elf’s groin.

Estel prodded the Elf’s entry suggestively with his knuckle, never breaching the opening but eliciting whimpers of pleasure from the Prince nonetheless as the delicate area was lightly massaged. Increasing his rhythm, the Ranger suckled the Elf’s shaft in tandem with his gentle nudging of the Elf’s entrance and the rolling of his nipples between his calloused fingertips. The concomitant stimulation drove the laegel to an immense summit and his climax was mounting. Another moan from Aragorn pushed the Wood-Elf violently over the edge, his orgasm wreaking his body with shudders as his seed spurted forth into his lover’s indulgent mouth.

 _No wonder he cannot think clearly,_ Legolas thought absentmindedly, unable to think clearly himself for the quake of his body.

Aragorn lapped the remaining seed from the Elf’s spent member ere he replaced the Prince’s leg effortlessly to its original position and scooted upwards so that he lay beside his lover again on their cloak bed. Realizing his eyes were closed, the Prince opened them to find that the Ranger was smiling at him. “I thought you had fallen asleep on me, Elf.”

Legolas could not locate his voice to respond; however, he leant forward, kissing the human’s pleasantly bruised lips and scooting his own form closer to the Ranger’s so that their flushed, tired bodies were pressed tightly together. Enclosing Aragorn in his arms, Legolas sighed as the Adan returned the embrace, each holding the other in the moonlight. For a while, there was nothing but the other and a new memory between the two friends that neither could imagine being spoilt. However, the hoot of an owl interrupted their reverie, calling the lovers back to their surroundings.


	14. Chapter 14

“We should tarry here no longer, unless we incur the wrath of my brothers for our wayward behavior.”

While said in jest, Aragorn’s words drove a barb of foreboding through the Prince’s contentment. _I have given no thought to the twins. What if they have heard us? What will they think?_ Legolas’ enjoyment of his lover’s embrace waned with his increasing worry that his longtime friends would not be pleased with his seduction of their young, human brother. _The twins will murder me._ Sitting up rapidly, the Elf pulled his bundle of borrowed clothing to him, shoving himself into his tunic before standing to pull on his leggings.

“Greenleaf?” The Ranger sat up in an attempt to stay the rushed Elf’s movements, his hand flying out to grab the laegel’s hands, which were lacing his trousers. “What is the matter?” Making no move to cease his departure, the Elf bent for his boots while the Ranger leapt forwards on his knees, finally catching the Wood-Elf by seizing both the Elf’s hands in his while he beseeched, “Greenleaf, please.”

 _I worry him excessively,_ Legolas remonstrated himself, tugging his hands free from the Adan’s hands and slipping his boots on his feet.

“I am fine, Estel, do not worry,” he tried to assuage the Ranger. “But I agree. We should get back to camp. The twins are no doubt concerned by our absence.”

From the dubious look the Ranger was giving him, the Prince could tell that Estel did not believe his paltry excuse, but the human said naught; Estel stood to pick his own discarded clothing from the bank of the brook. While the human replaced his clothing, Legolas ran his fingers through his impossibly tangled hair, wishing he had a brush with which to braid his knotted tresses. Snatching the water flasks in hand, Legolas glanced about him for anything he might have left behind.

_They will know and they will hate me._

His misgivings pained him. It was his traitorous mind that swayed him to doubting his and Aragorn’s lovemaking, for his heart wanted nothing more than to shed his clothes and lay beside Estel forever. He could not imagine having desired such activity after his abuse by the merchants, but to have it with Estel had only seemed right. The human had seen the torment the Prince had suffered and had not been shamed for the Wood-Elf, but had helped Legolas recover. With Estel, he couldn't imagine such pleasure ever being wrong – until he thought of the twins, a thought that brought him from the cocoon of safety he had felt in the Ranger's accepting and loving presence these past days. There were others about whom to think than just Estel and him.

Aragorn had barely belted his sword about his waist before the Elf began to walk the distance back to the camp, though the Ranger caught up easily and the pair made their way to the twins in strained silence. Ere they had reached the site, Aragorn stopped Legolas by stepping agilely in front of him, an act that almost toppled the unsuspecting Elf when he ran into the human. “What is it? What did I say? I did not hurt you or offend you, did I? Do you regret what we have done?”

Such distress lay in the man’s eyes that the Elf dropped the flasks to the ground so that he could clasp Estel’s troubled, stubbled face in his hands. “No, Estel. You have not said or done anything to hurt or offend me, and I will never regret what we have done.” Sighing profoundly, the Prince skirted the disquiet that ate at him by eluding, “I am sorry, but this has happened quickly and I am weary from the day’s toils.”

His furrowed brow relaxing, the Ranger nodded. “Of course,” he said, pausing to lean his worried forehead against the Elf’s temple, “I do love you, Greenleaf. That was not something I said merely in passion.”

“And I love you, kaimar,” Legolas responded without hesitation, the corners of his mouth quirking with his taunt.

Rumbling softly in mirth, the Ranger clasped the hands that still held his face and softly pressed his lips against the laegel’s smiling mouth, the brief contact enough to leave them both glowing with love and longing. “Indeed, I am sleepy. You have worn me out.” The Ranger laughed again when Legolas’ already rosy face flushed pink with embarrassment to the very tips of his pointed ears, which Aragorn kissed in turn, adding as he bent to retrieve the water flasks, “We’ll make the twins keep watch tonight so that we may both rest. If we push ourselves on the morrow, we should make it to the valley before nightfall.” With that, the Ranger turned to walk back to the campsite with Legolas in fretful tow.

_Elladan and Elrohir will surely know something is amiss if I cannot even keep from blushing at Estel’s teasing._

He had not lied to the human; he was exhausted from their journey over the mountain as he had not yet recouped his strength from his torment or subsequent unconsciousness, and he did not regret their pleasure. However, the sudden return of sensation to his body had precluded any argument on his behalf against their joining and he had yet to make sense of what had occurred or of the repercussions that their actions would bring.

 _I am surprised he would desire me after what he has seen._ A sinister voice from within told the Elf, _Mayhap he only sated the lust that watching your subjugation had sparked._

Legolas stumbled, his thigh’s disfigurement promptly imparting an intense ache that blackened the Wood-Elf’s vision.

 _No, that is not true,_ he countered forcibly, shaking his flaxen head and clutching his scar mightily. _Estel loves me._ The blackness faded; when he could see again, the Silvan noted with relief that Aragorn had not seen his fit. Picking himself carefully from the ground, Legolas resumed following the oblivious Ranger, endeavoring to quell his suspicions even as they wormed their way into his vexed thoughts.

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“Estel! You are soaked through!”

Elladan’s cry of brotherly outrage caused the Ranger to roll his eyes in mock aggravation. He was, in fact, drenched from the hip down and shivering from the cold, but his siblings’ mothering always incited flippancy from Aragorn, so he responded cheekily, “Truly, Elladan? I had not noticed.”

The twins had been pacing around the fire when he and Legolas had walked into the campsite, and though the twins must have heard their approach, both appeared startled to see them. Perhaps it was more than just their arrival that caused their surprise, however, what with Estel soaked and Legolas quiet, and both of them strangely flushed.

“I have noticed, Estel, that your mouth works more quickly than your mind,” Elrohir stated candidly while searching through his possessions for another spare set of leggings. While the borrowed trousers that the slim Prince wore were too big on the Wood-Elf, Aragorn’s brothers were closer to his own size, so Elrohir’s trousers would fit him fine.

 _My mouth does work quickly,_ the Ranger snorted to himself. _Just_ _ask Legolas._

“Here, fool. Change,” the Elf demanded, handing the Ranger a dry pair of trousers. Without discomfiture, the human stripped to replace his sodden clothing.

Upon finishing, the Ranger sat beside his brothers and friend at the fire, where the twins were practically jostling food into the Wood-Elf’s mouth. “We almost came looking for you two,” Elladan chastised. “We were discussing doing so when you arrived. What took you so long?”

Glancing at Legolas, the healer watched the Elf avert his eyes from the twins’ inquiring gazes, and in an effort to keep the Prince from their questions, the Adan responded in a dry tone, “I was teaching Legolas archery. You know how poor his aim is.”

Elladan and Elrohir guffawed in skepticism, while Legolas smiled appreciatively at Aragorn. Seemingly forgetting their concern, the twins began to regale their audience with an exaggerated story of their archery exploits, to which neither the tired, distracted Ranger nor the wounded, exhausted Prince paid much attention. The laegel, the human could tell, was lost in his own ruminations. Although the Elf had told him that he did not or would never regret what had transpired, the Ranger feared his advances had come too soon and that Legolas would relapse into sorrow. He would never have asked from Legolas what the Elf had given him freely tonight had not the Prince been willing and eager. Legolas had told the Ranger that he loved him. This weighed upon Estel’s mind. He knew that the Prince loved him; they had been friends since nearly the first day that they met, when Aragorn had been a child. But when Estel had told Legolas that he loved him, he had meant this in a manner different from the love between friends and he could only hope that Greenleaf understood and returned his love in the same way.

_Please, Nienna, let him be well._

“—and that is how Elladan and I defeated Morgoth with naught but a pot of Estel’s rabbit stew.” Elrohir stopped, and he and his twin looked expectantly at their companions for some sign that they had caught the foolish end of their story, the intent of which was to determine whether their unresponsive audience was listening.

After several long moments, Legolas cocked his head and smiled at the twins to ask incredulously, “What?”

Simultaneously, the two Elven brothers broke into raucous laughter, their ruse amusing them more than it amused their victims, as was often the case. Aragorn watched them in befuddlement, no more aware of what was occurring than Legolas.

“Go to bed,” Elladan ordered good-naturedly, “we will take turns keeping watch this night. You two are almost asleep already.”

Grateful, the exhausted Ranger and Prince unrolled their bedrolls close to the fire and close to each other. Aragorn lay on his side to face Legolas, who also lay on his side to face the Ranger. He watched the Silvan’s beautiful blue eyes become unfocused as they gazed at him in turn. Only then did the Ranger close his own eyes, his hand reaching out to grasp gently the Elf’s arm for reassurance that their lovemaking had not been a dream and that his lover lay beside him unharmed and untroubled in his slumber.


	15. Chapter 15

Aragorn awoke to the feeling of a warm body pressed against him, a sensation that he welcomed in his frigid, shivering state. Without opening his eyes, the Ranger knew whose arms tightened around him to pull him into a snug embrace. _How does Legolas always smell of oranges and the woods?_ Opening his eyes slightly to peek, the Ranger saw in the campfire’s dim light that the Elf was still sleeping, his cerulean eyes half-lidded, and his breathing easy. Smiling, the human burrowed closer to his companion, huddling with the Wood-Elf for warmth as he might have when younger, when he and the laegel had gone on early spring hunting trips around Rivendell. Instinctively, Legolas tucked the human’s head under his chin and shifted his frame to shelter the Ranger’s cold one.

He buried his head into the laegel’s chest in an attempt to cover his ears, which had seemingly turned to ice during the night. Even now that Estel was older, it was not uncommon for the Silvan to share his warmth with the human; Legolas would often do so during the cold months of the year if the two were in the wilds together and a fire could not be built or was not enough to keep the Ranger warm. The human’s twin foster brothers would do the same and when amongst the other Dúnedain, Aragorn and his fellow Rangers would sometimes huddle together similarly. But for the watching twins, who were sitting across the small clearing, glaring worriedly at him and Legolas without reserve, seeing their human brother acting so intimately with their Wood-Elf brother did not please them. They were no fools and feared that Legolas’ friendly warmth was not the most of which their human sibling had asked from the Prince.

The Adan pondered over the Elf swathed over and around him and fell asleep again soon enough; Aragorn's slumber did not last for long, though, because when dawn came Elladan shook his brother awake.

“Estel, rise. We need to leave before the snow begins.”

Unwilling to leave his warm retreat, the human mumbled his negation into Legolas’ tunic, causing the Wood-Elf to stir, though he did not waken.

“Up, Estel. For Legolas' sake, we should make it home before tonight.”

The Noldo did not sound pleased, and so Aragorn rolled over onto his back, suddenly aware that he had been huddled against the Prince under his brothers’ watchful eyes. _I do not think I am up to answering their questions today. They will tell me to avoid touching Legolas lest I upset him. Little do they know that I have gone beyond mere huddling for warmth._

Pulling himself into a seated position, the Ranger queried, “Where is Elrohir?”

“He is getting the horses ready. The snowstorm will be upon us quickly.” The clipped way in which his brother spoke intimated to the Ranger that his sibling was upset with him. Not wanting to inquire as to why Elladan was troubled, as Aragorn was certain he knew the answer, the human only nodded and made as though to rouse Legolas. “Let him sleep for a moment more,” Elladan interrupted, “Elrohir and I wish to speak with you privately, first.”

Silently, the Ranger reluctantly extricated himself from the Prince’s embrace and stood to follow his brother to where the twins had tethered their horses. As soon as the three were congregated, Elrohir turned on Aragorn, barely checking his anger as he hissed, “What do you think you are doing, muindor?”

“I do not understand,” Estel countered, fidgeting with his tunic without thinking under the twins' identically accusing stares. He felt he had done nothing wrong but already he was acting guilty.

“You know well of what he speaks,” Elladan heatedly answered and crossed his arms over his broad chest in aggravation. “Are you so willing to crawl into Legolas’ arms after what has happened to him? Have you no concern for his well-being?”

“And do tell us why you were slow to return to the campsite last night. Do not be so ready to lie as you did then, either,” Elrohir inserted, not giving the baffled human time to respond to Elladan’s questions. Like his twin, the younger Noldo had his arms crossed over his chest, as well. Had not they been dressed differently, the two would have been indistinguishable, so alike were their scowls. “We did not press the matter so as not to upset Greenleaf, but do not think us idiots.”

Aragorn sighed and then glanced back to where Legolas appeared to be resting peacefully. “You do not understand, brothers –“

Elladan preached, “We understand perfectly, Estel. You are satisfying your lust, taking advantage of Legolas’ need for affection. Have you not thought about the consequences of your actions? Have you not considered Legolas’ recovery?”

Elrohir continued the tirade, “And this coming so close to his defilement. Legolas may be physically healed from his trauma but he is not well. You have acted irrationally, brother. You have risked Legolas’ health for your own pleasure.”

Believing his brothers’ censure unwarranted, the cross Ranger retorted, “You know nothing of this. Your judgments are rash.” Despite his words, the Ranger was subject to accepting their doubts, that he had rushed his companion’s recovery and subjugated his friend’s will with the proximity between events. Instantly, his heart rebelled at so naïve a definition of his lover; however, he was convinced by his brothers’ concern, and so promised with a tired sigh, “I swear to you. Nothing will happen between us until Ada has deemed Legolas well, however long that may take.”

This did not pacify Elrohir and Elladan, though their anger abated. “Estel.” Elladan rubbed his weary face in thought. “This cannot continue. Ever. You must end this before you are mired in a problem whose only solution will still be its end. The longer you wait the more complicated this will become, most especially for Legolas. Thranduil will kill Greenleaf if he finds out.”

 _I had thought nothing of Thranduil or of the twins’ reaction to this._ It was true enough that the Elvenking hated the human already. If he knew that Aragorn had been intimate with his son, Thranduil would consider Estel no less a defiler than were the merchants who had abused the Prince. _Elladan is right. Thranduil will kill Legolas if he finds out about this._

Having never truly admitted to himself that he cared for Legolas more deeply than as a mere friend, Estel hesitated to try to explain this to his Noldorin brothers. He would not have them thinking that he had only sought to slake his lust, though, so the Ranger sighed again before stating simply, “I love him. He told me he loves me.”

“You love him as your friend. Do not confuse this with desire. Do not inflict more heartache upon him, please. We would not watch Legolas fade,” Elrohir commanded, imploring the Ranger to abide. "He is fighting grief even now. Do not heap more burdens upon his shoulders."

As he paced beside his horse, Elladan reiterated, “Legolas is unwell. He desires your affection because he trusts you. He knows not of what he speaks, or how he feels. He is disconnected from his emotions, he –”

“No. Last night he felt,” Estel interrupted hotly, throwing another glance towards the sleeping subject of their argument before turning back to his brothers. “He felt me. It was all that he could feel…” The human faltered in his explanation, for he was suddenly aware that his words were working against and not for his case.

_Is this why he was distressed afterward? Could he truly have not desired what we have done except that it gave him comfort?_

Elrohir grasped the young human’s arm, squeezing it in consolation, “Estel, what happened last night that he felt you?” Casting his gaze down at his boots, the Ranger’s reticence told the twins what had happened. “And that, brother, is why you must stay away from him. You cannot continue this charade. We know you did not desire to hurt Legolas, but do not continue this harm.”

Aragorn shook his head. _Elladan and Elrohir are wrong._

“I will not stay away from him. I am doing him no harm. And I would do whatever it takes for him to recuperate.” The Ranger did not wait for their arguments but stalked away from them and back to his sleeping lover, rousing the Wood-Elf with a quiet whisper, “Awaken, Greenleaf.”

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“What is it?”

Immediately, Legolas knew something was amiss. Estel stooped beside him; it was only now dawn and the Ranger already looked vexed. Casting his blanket to the side, the Elf sat up, reaching for his bow and quiver ere the human had even answered him. He almost had his quiver strapped, ready for battle, before Estel snorted in amusement and held his hand out to stop the Silvan.

“Peace, Greenleaf. Elladan and Elrohir wish to leave before the snowstorm arrives. The horses are ready,” the Ranger stated evenly, glaring back at his brothers before he smiled sorrowfully at the Prince, “Today will be a rough journey.” The man stood and moved away slightly before Legolas reached up to catch the sleeve of the human’s tunic.

Not understanding the undercurrent of Aragorn’s statement, but realizing the human was disconcerted, the Wood-Elf asked again, “What is it? What is wrong?”

The sorrowful smile still upon his bewhiskered visage, Estel eluded, “Nothing. All will be well. Can you be ready soon?”

“Of course.” The Elf loosed his hold of his lover to tie his bedroll adroitly and replace his scanty possessions into his satchel, watching the preoccupied Adan douse the fire all the while.

While sitting around the campfire with Estel and the twins the night before, the Elf had reflected on the many years of friendship he and the Ranger had shared. Legolas had been beset with reservations about Estel’s objectives for their lovemaking, and now, in the dawn of a new morning, the Prince feared that last night would be cast in a much different light for Aragorn, instead.

 _Something has happened. Why will he not tell me?_ Meandering to where the twins waited, the preoccupied Prince was intent on finding the cause for Aragorn’s forlorn demeanor. _He has not changed his mind, has he?_ The Wood-Elf could imagine nothing worse, as the conclusion from his single-minded deliberation had been a simple one.

He loved the Ranger. That was enough for the Elf. Should Aragorn not return his adoration, Legolas would merely fade. There was no other way and no other compelling reason for him to remain. The assessment incited the Prince to feel liberated. During his torment, his soul had not fled because of Aragorn. The Ranger had been his reason for living then and it would be now. He had promised the Adan never to leave him and so the Wood-Elf would not.

“Good morning, my friends,” he addressed the Noldor with cheerfulness upon reaching them as they finished readying their horses. The twins, however, only spared him each a sad, fleeting look before Elrohir mounted his horse and Elladan walked back to the campsite to help Estel. The standoffish, reticent welcome was uncharacteristic. It was then that Legolas discerned. _They know._

He waited; it was only moments before Aragorn and Elladan returned, but the time that Legolas wallowed in the shadow of Elrohir’s cold shoulder wilted the Prince’s soaring spirits.

 _Elladan and Elrohir_ _must know. I would rather have their anger than this silent condemnation,_ the disconsolate Wood-Elf deliberated. Aragorn mounted Elladan’s horse without a word, before holding his hand out to Legolas to climb atop the beast in front of him. Complying without hesitancy, the Prince settled himself between the Ranger’s legs before he noticed the trenchant glare the elder Noldo gave the lovers, though whom it was meant for was unclear. Elladan said naught and mounted behind his brother, who prompted his horse wordlessly into a fierce gallop.

 _They are not merely angry. They hate me. I was right,_ the Prince despaired. _I am surprised they keep their peace._ He had known the Noldorin twins since they were Elflings, but by his actions, he had seemingly broken all bonds of friendship with them. Not only had he seduced their human brother, but also had done so less than a fortnight after being taken against his will. _They must think I am despicable. I am deplorable. I am unworthy of Estel._

The pace was grueling but the Prince was gladdened that the procession of disgruntled Elves and troubled human would soon reach Imladris. He dreaded the inevitable encounter with Lord Elrond, who would know that the Prince was injured and in need of care, and no doubt be cognizant of what had happened in the past several weeks without being told. _He will require the whole story._ The Elf shuddered with this thought, for he could not envision another reiteration of his tormented tale.

His cogitations turned to the twins and their contemptuous behavior. _I do not blame them for their hatred. Estel deserves much better than me._ It hurt him to know his closest friends despised him. He would not come between Aragorn and his brothers but he would remain by the Ranger’s side until Estel bid him to leave. The Ranger was all he had. The Ranger was all he wanted.

The trees whipped by them, their branches quickly becoming laden with new fallen snow as the winter’s sun rose far past its zenith, the day slipping past them in edgy calm. Slowing their pace to allow the horses some reprieve, the riders enjoyed the sudden lack of frigid air hitting their wind burned faces. When he felt the human shivering behind him, the Elf instinctively shifted closer, sharing his warmth with the freezing Ranger. Aragorn responded by pulling Legolas nearer so that his back lay flush against the man’s chest, his rear wedged snugly between the Adan’s thighs, while the Ranger’s arms tightened around his waist.

The steady throb of his disfigurement bothered the Elf. It was as though the scarred flesh was not a part of him any longer, as though the skin had reformed a new essence apart from his own – a malevolent, disturbing essence. Lacking Aragorn, Legolas realized, he would fall back into the comatosely numbing nothingness he had felt last night and before, prior to the physical pleasure he had found with the Ranger. The Elf didn’t care.

_If I do not have Estel then there is no point in feeling._

And so, he sat back, reveling in the human’s touch even as the scar pulsed its displeasure, its chilling discontent seeping through him in uneven waves of repulsive memories, ill begotten pleasures, and dread of forthcoming woe.

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Despite the jouncing of the horse, Aragorn was thoroughly enjoying the lithe Elf pressed against him; however, the arduous gallop the twins had set created a constant grinding between his groin and Legolas’ rear, and the Ranger was having a difficult time keeping his reaction at bay. That the Elf reflexively, constantly squirmed did not help matters.

 _If the twins were not here –_ the Ranger thought and then stopped himself. _I promised them I would refrain from such actions._ This much he would grant them, for though he truly did not believe he was harming Legolas, he would not take the chance should he be mistaken. _It will be a long wait._ Biting his lip forcefully, the human squashed the groan that threatened to spill from his lips when the Prince’s firm but supple rear bounced again, driving the man to grunt with desire.

Sensations he had long derided himself for feeling were no longer taboo – the Ranger could not stop noticing these simple pleasures now, nor contain their effect on him. The smell of the Elf’s hair, how Legolas would point out nature’s beauty to him, the way in which the Prince smiled at the call of the birds, and even the rise and fall of the Prince’s chest as he had slept prompted an untold joy within the Ranger.

 _This is not mere lust._ _I have always loved Legolas._ Although he had not rationally considered before last night that he loved his companion, he had, he realized, felt this way since becoming an adult. Having never held a single sliver of hope that Legolas would return his adoration, Estel had kept it clandestine to shield himself from being rejected, but also to keep the Wood-Elf from ever knowing and thus turning away from the human. He would never be able to bear losing the Prince as his friend. _I was only too afraid of losing his companionship to admit it, I think._

Elrohir’s horse slowed, as did Elladan’s – the one on which the Prince and Ranger rode – in response. They were close to Imladris, having made efficient use of the daylight by not ceasing their journey once, though they had slowed several times to let the horses rest, as they did now. Several inches of snow had fallen; most of it had melted without accumulating on the ground, while the trees and bushes of the forest were lined in the cold offering from the fading winter’s dreary skies. The setting sun illumined the sparkling substance and the foliage of the forest glittered brilliantly. The gelid wind whipped through the Elf’s hair. Legolas squirmed again as he caught the wayward locks to push them under his cloak’s hood.

 _Ai Valar. We need to break soon,_ Aragorn mused, unable any longer to hide the growing hardness of his member.

“Greenleaf,” the human rumbled in what he hoped was a menacing tone, “if you do not stop wriggling I will not be able to walk.” The Wood-Elf outright laughed at him, which caused the Prince’s hips to agitate once more, and thus elicited a choked groan from Aragorn and caused the impish Elf to chuckle more.

A frosty glower from Elladan terminated Legolas’ mirth at once. When the proud Prince’s shoulders stooped and his head dropped, the Ranger became enraged at the thoughtlessness of his siblings. _They are causing the harm. This misconduct will stop._ The twins were angry with him, not Legolas, and the Ranger did not understand their standoffishness towards the Wood-Elf. Legolas pulled away from the Ranger, sliding forward to increase the space between their bodies. Aragorn nearly dismounted to thrash his brothers. _They shame him. This will not continue,_ he pledged.

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Whatever effort in mischief the Elf had amassed was squandered on self-loathing when Elladan had cast his disparaging gaze in Legolas’ direction. He reeled with convictions of his worthlessness, a sentiment bestowed mendaciously upon him by the disturbing voice he could not subdue.

_They hate you. They know. They know you are rubbish. Nothing. You are but the whore that has seduced their brother._

The Elf began to tremble under the weight these repugnant words carried, his body also shimmying in response to the removal of the contentment he had felt by having Aragorn near. Everything was perverted under the voice’s judgmental candor.

“Greenleaf?” The Ranger’s harried tone alarmed the laegel.

“Yes?” The wind stole his words away and the snowflakes burnt his eyes with their icy reprimand.

The Ranger did not respond at once, but heaved the Elf against him again by his embrace around the Prince's torso, his hands letting the reins fall to the side as he fervently clasped the Silvan against him. Elladan’s steed needed no direction and trailed Elrohir’s horse without Aragorn’s prompting. Legolas did not retreat again but allowed the human to derive whatever comfort he desired from him.

“Greenleaf, please,” the Ranger pled in the Elf’s ear.

For what the human asked, the laegel did not understand, but Legolas would grant him whatever he required. “Estel? What is wrong?”

Once more, the Ranger did not respond immediately, but clutched the Elf tightly, his chest shrouding the slim Elf protectively. Besieged by the emotion with which the Ranger held him, Legolas returned it the best he could, hugging the human’s arms to him. Through the thick tunic the Ranger wore, the Elf could feel that the man’s muscled arms were tensed. _He is angered._

“Please, Greenleaf. Do not pull away from me,” Estel whispered, knowing Legolas could hear his softly spoken words. “Ignore their anger, it is not for you.”

“They know, do they not? They hate me, Estel, and I cannot blame them for that,” the Elf countered, turning his head and torso to speak directly into the man’s ear.

The Ranger growled fiercely, startling Legolas to hear the human so angry with his brothers, “They are idiots. We will resolve this later. But it is not you with whom they are angered, it is me.”

Elladan and Elrohir came to a halt just in front of the Silvan and Ranger, and for the first time that day, they were smiling. Home lay before them in the valley below.

_Imladris. At last._


	16. Chapter 16

The horses were as excited as their riders were to be home, and despite their exhaustion, the steeds trotted swiftly into the courtyard of Imladris, their hoof beats resounding through the hushed valley. Rivendell had already settled for the night, as the sun had long since set and the Elves were in their homes or in their quiet places with loved ones instead of about the day’s toils, but the weary travelers' arrival did not go undetected. Lord Elrond had not expected his twin sons' homecoming so soon and had not expected Aragorn and Legolas’ coming at all. Word from the sentries along the path home had already spread word quickly to inform the Peredhel of his sons' homecoming; it was with heartfelt elation that he welcomed them in the courtyard. Elrond’s eyes quickly assessed their well-being before his fatherly instinct took over. He grasped the two Elves closest to him in a massive hug. Elrohir and Legolas returned the embrace before stepping back, allowing the Elven Lord access to his young adopted son and oldest, Elven son.

“It brings me great joy to have all four of my sons home,” Lord Elrond declared joyously, smiling pointedly at the Prince, who had been as another child to him since he and the twins had first become friends in their youth. “Come now. All of you are walking of your own accord? None are hurt?”

Ribbing though it was, the Prince flinched. _No chance my wounds will go undeclared._

“Ada, Legolas is injured,” Elrohir stated promptly, his concerned, apologetic demeanor coming as a surprise to Legolas, as he dragged the Prince by the arm to place him before the Peredhel.

_I can always count on the twins to be discreet._

“And he will get no better with you jerking him around, ion nin,” the Elf Lord chastised, turning a serious gaze to the Prince. “What ill has befallen you?”

“I am well,” he tried to tell the master healer.

 _This is not altogether a lie,_ Legolas chided himself.

It was impossible to prevaricate to the Peredhel and the Prince was a poor liar, anyway, so he was not surprised that Elrond did not seem to believe him. The Wood-Elf felt as though his elder were looking through him; the healer’s brow furrowed and several moments passed before it cleared. Elrond smiled kindly.

“Go to the kitchens, sons, to find nourishment. Greenleaf and I will meet you in my study later. I wish to hear of your latest escapade with the Orcs and how you came to meet Estel and Legolas on the mountains,” Elrond said over his shoulder as he walked away, Legolas respectfully in tow. Someone from the stable collected the exhausted horses and the courtyard was quiet again when the twins and Aragorn made their way into their home.

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As soon as the Wood-Elf’s flaxen head rounded the corner to the family wing of the house, above which Elrond’s study and apothecary lay, Aragorn grabbed the back of his brothers’ cloaks, halting their progress to the kitchens. He could no longer refrain from venting his fury and so hissed at his siblings, drawing them none too gently into a dark, empty sitting room by their overcoats, “What is wrong with you two?” The twins exchanged bewildered stares; the Ranger was quick to clarify, “You rail at me for harming Legolas and yet you have done so without qualm.”

Yanking the cloth of his cloak from the human’s hand, Elladan countered, “We have done nothing. Do not cast your guilt onto us.”

Livid, the Ranger seethed, “Do you think your behavior today blameless? You think to ostracize Legolas to help him recover? You shame him with your judgment.” Aragorn began to pace back and forth before his brothers like a caged animal, which was, in fact, how he felt – frustrated and unable to be free of it. When the twins only continued to gape at him in puzzlement, the Ranger explained again in vexation, ceasing his pacing around the small couch long enough to say, “He believes you hate him. He is gracious enough to understand why, although what reasoning lies behind this I do not know.”

 _I can well guess,_ the Adan thought to himself. _He believed the merchants’ opinions of him, why would he not hold dear those of two of his closest allies?_

The twins gasped concurrently, their own exasperation rising quickly. Elrohir nearly yelled at his young human brother, “That’s not the case! Did you tell him this?”

“Of course not! But what else would he believe when he is the recipient of your cold glares and unfriendly attitudes? He would never have thought the two of you to judge him, but now, when he needs his friends around him, you would push him away because you are angry with me.”

Sighing profoundly, Elladan offered, “Let us go eat. Ada will be waiting for us after he has drilled Greenleaf over what has happened.” When the Ranger made no move to leave, not yet satisfied that his brothers would end their aloof treatment of his lover, the Noldo added, “Estel. We believed you had told Legolas of our anger for you and our worry for him. It was not our intention to snub him. We will settle this tonight, I promise.” Elrohir nodded in agreement and the human was pacified.

“Thank you.” He did not doubt his brother’s word, though how the matter would be settled still concerned him. _If they shame him again, I will clobber them._

Trailing the twins, the Ranger mused on the misunderstanding that had so obviously affected the Wood-Elf. _He is not usually so thin skinned as this. They were right of this – Greenleaf is certainly not himself._ The procession to the kitchen was a silent one and the Ranger found himself worrying over how the Prince would respond to Elrond’s interrogation. _Legolas will not lie to Ada but nor will he want to tell him._ Hoping his perceptive, persistent father would not overwhelm the laegel, Aragorn stretched his aching arms above his head as he walked, glad to be home after his torturous adventure, and happy that the Wood-Elf was with him. _Legolas can recover here. He will be safe in Imladris, surrounded by his friends._

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Many, many years ago, when Legolas and the twins had been mere Elflings, the Prince had walked this corridor behind Lord Elrond with much the same apprehension as now. Elladan and Elrohir had convinced Legolas to slip with them into their father’s study, pilfer a bottle of Elrond’s finest wine, and drink it in the garden. The first part of their scheme had worked well – they had snuck into the private library without being noticed, stolen the bottle of liquor, and then made it to the garden to enjoy the fruits of their juvenile plan. As youths unused to heavy drinking, what they had not planned for was their reaction to the stout beverage. The Prince had been the least affected, as his father’s wine was always much more potent and he had drunk his share at the frequent feasts of his people – or at least enough to gain some tolerance, but the twins had become ludicrously inebriated. The Noldorin twins had run through the forest shouting obscenities, giggling manically. When Legolas had finally caught them, he had tried to return them to their rooms without being seen by the servants and especially by Lord Elrond. He had not succeeded – highly upset, the Peredhel had been waiting in the bedroom that the twins had shared while younger.

Therefore, now, as he did then, Legolas followed the Elven leader with his head down in fear of the coming anger and judgment he expected from Elrond. As Elflings, the Prince had been taken to the apothecary with Elladan and Elrohir, who had become sick with their overindulgence. Lord Elrond had not yelled at them. The Elflings’ drunken merriment as they had walked to the apothecary was destroyed in the wake of their Ada’s discontent. It had not taken harsh words or corporal punishment, such as that which Legolas’ father often used, to make the Prince cry. Lord Elrond’s disappointment had been enough.

 _Nothing has changed here since last I visited,_ Legolas pondered, taking in the familiar carpets, tapestries, murals, adornments, and the Elven Lord walking taciturnly in front of him. _I still fear his disappointment._ Like the twins, Elrond was not usually one whom Legolas would ever consider might judge him. Unlike the Prince’s own father, Elrond was also not one to make rash conclusions or belittle Legolas for his failings. Ever had the Elven Lord respected the Wood-Elf – the Prince did not wish to lose that esteem.

Lord Elrond stopped and opened a large door, which was carved in high relief with various plants – this door led to Elrond’s apothecary. The laegel followed his elder in, his tension growing. “Sit, Legolas.” He sat on a small bench admiring the many colored, myriad bottles, jars, and sachets of herbs as the Peredhel stoked the ever-burning fire in the hearth to increase the light in the intentionally dark room. “How are you injured, young one?”

Legolas hesitated ere he revealed, “Estel and I encountered Orcs on our way here. The wound is small. Estel and the twins have both seen to it.” The Peredhel sat beside him, waiting tolerantly. Knowing he could not avoid it, the Prince pulled off his cloak and tugged his tunic over his head to expose the wound.

“I should have sent you to the kitchens first. You look as though you have not eaten in weeks,” the healer stated with concern, taking in the Wood-Elf’s emaciated torso. Gently removing the bandage to see the wound, he appended, “But you are right, it does appear to be well. Is this the only injury you have sustained, Greenleaf?”

Again, the Wood-Elf hesitated but Elrond’s kind, inquisitive smile convinced him, and he shook his head. “No. There is one other.” The healer gazed patiently at him, and so the Wood-Elf stood, unlaced the borrowed, oversized trousers he wore, and let them fall to the floor. He stood naked before the Peredhel’s analytical eyes.

Immediately, the elder exclaimed, “Legolas! How did this happen?” By a gentle hold of the Silvan’s hip, the Peredhel turned the Prince’s body towards the light to examine the marred flesh on the Elf’s thigh, his eyes wide at the sight. “And how long ago? This looks as though it has healed before.”

In a quiet, mortified voice, the Silvan admitted, “I fell from a tree several weeks ago. A broken branch made the gouge.”

Elrond’s eyebrows rose in skepticism of the Prince's explanation, his lips curling into a disbelieving smile while he studied the scar. “You fell from a tree? Legolas...” The healer stopped short of speaking what would have been a good-natured jibe when he saw the petrified, heartrending look on the Wood-Elf’s face. His smile fading, the Peredhel prompted solemnly, “What caused this? How did you fall?”

Legolas closed his eyes, the tears smoldering behind his lids as he fought to smother the need to weep. _I do want to disappoint him. I do not want to lose his respect._

“Greenleaf. Look at me.” Obeisance to his elder trumping his humiliation, the Wood-Elf opened his eyes and the bitter tears fell as he looked down at the Elven Lord sitting on the bench. “Your burden is mine. Tell me what has happened.”

He could find no falsity in the elder – only the same concern and paternal love that had always been there – and so replaced his trousers quietly to sit down beside Elrond. Taking the Prince's hand, the Elven Lord squeezed it gently between his. “Share this burden that haunts you.”

After taking a deep breath, the Prince turned his attention to the glass bottles and phials reflecting tinted light from the flickering lantern and firelight, and began. “I have told this to Elladan and Elrohir but they do not know all of it. Only Estel knows of this in its entirety, as he was also present for some part.” The Peredhel nodded, listening conscientiously to the Prince's explanation with knitted brow, but Legolas did not see the elder anymore – he was back in the store, talking to the human merchant. “I went to Lake-town to buy pipe-weed for Estel. I left my sentries on the outskirts, telling them when I would be back and where I was going, for I expected no peril. The merchant I sought did not wish to serve me; when his two companions entered the store, they began to harass me, believing I had insulted them in some way.”

The Peredhel kept his silence. The Prince paused, tilting his head to the side in thought. “I did not believe they would assault me, though the lust in their eyes was warning enough. I was weak and I could not fight them off. They took me by surprise, knocking me unconscious.” The Wood-Elf’s tears had ceased, and much to Elrond’s increasing concern, Legolas became more despondent as he continued. “They tied me to a wine barrel in the backroom of the store, naked. The store owner wanted to teach me a lesson in manners, or so he said.”

The Prince sighed deeply. “Each took his turn using me while the others would cheer him on. When each had his fill, they left me there, tied and bleeding, while they celebrated their conquest with wine.” The pressure on the Prince’s hand increased; the Peredhel did not wish to interrupt the horrid tale but he feared the distant stare on the laegel’s face and desired to offer whatever comfort he could. “They returned, their perverse lust aroused again, though this time they desired my ruin. The storekeeper –”

Legolas stopped, dropping his head in humiliation. _I would not have him know of this._

Tenderly, the elder turned Legolas' chin so that the young Silvan faced him, his gentle hands cupping the cheeks of the Elf he considered a son. “There is nothing you cannot tell me, Greenleaf,” Elrond assured.

Legolas was touched to see that the sage, bottomless green eyes of the elder held no censure, no detestation, but had welled with sympathetic tears. _He is right. There is nothing I cannot tell him._ Elrond again took the Prince’s hand in his, never removing his kind gaze from the Wood-Elf’s own.

“The storekeeper raped me again, using an empty wine bottle. The pain was unbearable. I wished to die but could not – not there, with them around him, and not in such a humiliating way. The merchant took me again but did not finish. My sentries had come for me." Legolas breathed deeply and returned his eyes to the sight of the bottles lining the shelves. "While the shopkeeper spoke to my guards, his two companions dressed me, rolled me in a long bolt of cloth, and secreted me outside. My hands and feet were bound, they held me at knifepoint, and I could not struggle. They took me to the woods and told me that they were through having their fun, that they didn’t need me anymore. I was nothing and they no longer wanted me.” The Elf’s tears began anew at the recollection of his torment but his courage was bolstered at the unwavering compassion that the elder displayed. “They tried to geld me; in my effort to get away from them, I climbed into a tree...” Legolas’ words faltered as he rubbed the scar absentmindedly with his free hand until the Peredhel captured the errant limb to clasp between his.

“Which is when you were injured on the broken branch,” the elder prodded, drawing the Prince back to his story.

“Yes,” Legolas persevered. “But I got away from them and hid in the trees. My sentries neared, so the merchants fled, but I stayed in the tree, hiding until the forest was calm. Not wishing anyone to discover my degradation, I washed the best I could in the river and told my sentries that I had been attacked by a band of thieves.”

Massaging the Prince's hands, Lord Elrond said softly, “But you said Estel was there.” The Elven Lord could not imagine how the young Elf had survived what he had, much less another such incident, and he asked with the hope that there was no more suffering to be told, “Something else has happened?”

Legolas nodded and the elder’s hopes were dashed.

“I kept the secret from my father, from my friends. I did not want anyone to know of my disgrace. When Estel came to Mirkwood, I thought to tell him, but I did not want to sully his mind with such things.” Legolas shivered, the memories of his second encounter with the merchants still too fresh in his mind to disassociate. In response, the Peredhel scooted closer to the miserable Wood-Elf, looping his arm around the young Silvan’s waist and bringing Legolas to him in an attempt to keep the Prince in the present, where he was safe. The Prince reacted by curling his body towards the Peredhel, for he was comforted by the presence of the protective elder.

“I should have been more careful. We were not too close to Lake-town but Estel and I had tracked a group of Orcs near one of the many trade routes the humans journey to obtain and sell their goods. The shopkeeper’s companions, by some cruel whim of Eru, happened upon us while Estel and I were joking around. The sorrow… it has been a distraction, so I neither saw nor heard them until it was too late, and Estel was laughing and occupied… I should have been more careful,” he repeated, placing the blame fully upon himself. “They threatened Estel’s life if I did not comply and so I did not fight them. They tied me to a tree and one of them took me again. I was weak.”

The laegel sobbed without sound, his hot tears trailing down to stain the Elven Lord’s robes. _As I am weak now._

Rubbing the Prince’s back in slow, soothing circles, the Peredhel questioned, “Weakness? No, Greenleaf. You acted selflessly to save Estel. The price you paid for his life was a high one.”

“But I could not keep him from harm,” the Prince countered angrily, his ire at how pathetic he believed himself to be causing him to recoil from the reassuring embrace of the elder. He pulled back, but not away, because Elrond would not loosen his hold of the Prince’s arm. “They tied him to a tree and intended to flog him. The merchants became preoccupied with my torture, though, and left him be.”

Knowing that the most base portion of his story had yet to be told, Legolas ran his hands over his fair, tear-stained face and drew in what he hoped would be a fortifying breath. “I did not know that it happened until Estel told me later, but they poisoned me with a vile substance...” The Elf’s words trailed off as he remembered his reaction to the toxin.

 _I am tired of this misery._ He did not speak for several minutes and sat with his humiliated, flushed face buried in his hands.

The healer, however, would not let the Wood-Elf relapse into his despondency, and so prompted, “What poison?”

Without looking up, the Prince explained in a voice muffled by his hands, “I do not know. They told me if I was not pleased by their handling that they would kill Estel. Much to my horror, I did find gratification in their defilement. I wished that I would die.” From the gap between the fingers he held splayed over his face, the laegel turned his beseeching eyes to the Elven Lord, seeking forgiveness and compassion. “I did not desire their foul touch but I responded all the same, as though I were disjointed, a body and a soul, except my body would not die to give my soul reprieve.”

“But you did not give in to grief,” supplied the elder, drawing the Prince's hands from his face.

Legolas shook his head and disheveled blond hair flew around him as he attested, “I did not. I could not. Estel was there, watching. I did not despair for him.” Finally looking Elrond in the eye again, the Wood-Elf smiled forlornly. “And Estel got free. He slew the men though I do not remember it. He took care of me.” Studying the palms of his hands, the Prince explained, “I fell into a sleep that I could not waken from and I dreamt of the first attack before I awoke to find that I was with Estel on the Misty Mountains, on our way here. I was unconscious for over a week. I came back for Estel so that I would not hurt him with my shame any longer. Shortly thereafter, the Orcs the twins were trailing came across us, and soon after we met the twins in the forest along the foothills path.”

Legolas sighed with profound relief. _I have told him._ The entire story lay exposed.

For several seemingly long moments, Lord Elrond did not say or do anything, and when the strained silence became too much for the Prince, he looked up from his hands to gauge the elder’s reaction. His judicious eyes mere slits, the Elven leader was staring across the room, his countenance one of utter rage as he pondered over the tragic tale Legolas had told him. The flickering of the lantern threw shadows over Elrond’s dark features, the light casting a gloomy mirror of the leader’s retributive disposition, and the Prince thought absently, _I have forgotten that for all his kindness, Lord Elrond is a warrior, also._

The enraged emerald eyes turned to him and the Elven Lord’s ire calmed to a simmering revulsion, one that Legolas knew was not meant for him. “I would that I had been there as Estel, for the two merchants would have suffered a worse fate than death, a fate that the last of your assailants may yet face.”

Such hatred did the elder exude in his declaration that Legolas started, his body twitching in uneasiness at this display of loathing. But then, the Elven Lord blinked his eyes and the odium was gone, leaving only the compassion and love that the Prince had ever found in the Elf he held nearer to his heart as a father than his own Ada. Seizing the Wood-Elf in an almost painfully crushing embrace, the elder murmured unintelligibly under his breath. A meandering, relaxing, and mild tingling spread through the Prince’s body. From past experience with the healer’s magic, Legolas knew that Elrond was using his imprecated ring – vilya – to facilitate in the mending of the Silvan’s physical wounds. The discomfort of his marred thigh and gouged belly began to ease. Elrond did not heal the Wood-Elf entirely, for he rarely did so for anyone. However, Legolas also knew from previous experience that the longer he stayed in Rivendell, the faster his wounds would heal – all because of Elrond and vilya.

“I am sorry. I would take this pain from you if I could,” Elrond told the Wood-Elf, though he did not speak of the younger Elf’s rhaw’s agony, since vilya was easing that discomfort even now, but of Legolas’ faer’s agony.

Laying his head on Elrond’s shoulder, the Prince returned the embrace just as fiercely and the weary sorrow of his trauma slid away from him in the long moments of comfort. His most detrimental fear that the Elven Lord would reject him had been ameliorated such that his diminishing courage grew; Legolas contemplated whether to complete his story.

 _Although the facts have been told, their consequences have not,_ the Wood-Elf thought. He longed to tell the Peredhel of his scar, how the flesh felt foreign to him, how its depraved insinuations drove him to doubting the love of all those he held dear, but Legolas kept his silence, not wanting to ruin the precarious security he felt in the Noldo’s presence.

He did not even realize that he had begun to squeeze the mar until Lord Elrond grabbed his fist, asking worriedly as he looked into the laegel’s eyes, “Does it pain you still?”

_Do not tell him, Legolas. He will know you are mad._

“No, it does not ache,” he eluded.

_It does not ache unless I am the cause of it; it pains me still only in that I cannot leave it be._

“Why did it become torn again?” Elrond maintained his hold of the Wood-Elf’s hand. Legolas’ fingers itched to pry the skin apart at the very implication of doing so.

_Do not tell him, Legolas. Have you not revealed enough of your shame this day? Do not compound your humiliation with your lunacy._

Legolas closed his eyes.

“Greenleaf?”

“I am sorry, Lord Elrond. I am only tired,” he evaded again, trying hard to meet the elder's incisive gaze.

_That is no lie. I am exhausted._

The Elven leader studied him, and perhaps because the Prince did look entirely fatigued, he chose to hold his questions. “We can speak more of this tomorrow. Come,” the Peredhel stated, standing to gather the Wood-Elf’s discarded tunic and cloak, “I will speak with the twins and Estel but you should rest. Tomorrow I expect to see you at breakfast with a hearty appetite.” He passed the Prince’s tunic to him and the younger Elf stood to clothe himself, taking the offered cloak to drape over his arm. When he was finished, Elrond brushed the long, tangled hair from Legolas’ shoulders, pushing it behind his ears as he promised, “If you have need of anything, Greenleaf, you’ve only to ask.”

“Thank you, Minyatar,” he gratefully replied.

Both Elves smiled at the nickname, one that Legolas had begun calling Lord Elrond back when the Prince was an Elfling, when the Wood-Elf's Naneth and he had spent three summers with the Noldor in Imladris. “I will walk you to your room.”

Looping his arm through the laegel’s arm, the Peredhel led the Elf out into the corridor. The hush of the retired household washed over Legolas, the quietude matching his somber, albeit relieved mood. His burden was lessened. Relating the events to Aragorn had been beneficial, telling the twins had made him feel in control of his emotions, however false that feeling may have been, but confessing the details of his woe to Lord Elrond had been healing. The Prince breathed easier.

As they approached his room, the Elven Lord released the Wood-Elf’s arm and opened the door for him, stopping Legolas ere he entered to assure again, “Do not suffer alone. Find me if you have need. Promise me.”

Without pause the Prince replied, “I promise.”

The Noldo smiled, placing his hand behind the Prince's neck to lower Legolas’ head, which he promptly kissed on the brow. “Sleep well, Greenleaf.” The Peredhel turned on his heel, on his way to meet his sons, as Legolas walked into his room, scanning his surroundings thoughtfully.

The few possessions he had left from the journey lay in a pile on the bed, with his bow and quiver on top. _The Elf from the stables must have brought them,_ he mused sleepily. Everything else was as it had been when he had last been in Imladris. The furnishings, the bright mural of Mirkwood when it was still called Greenwood the Great by the humans, and even the moonlight streaming in through the veranda doors seem to have remained the same.

 _Nothing has changed except for me._ Without bothering to remove his boots or clothing, or even the pile of his belongings from the great bed, Legolas lay his drained body down and immediately fell into an unhindered sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Aragorn had grown immensely nervous; he rolled back and forth on the wooden desktop a small green marble he had found on his father's desk, which was driving his twin brothers slowly insane. _Where are they? They could not have been talking this long._ The marble spun away, dropping to the floor as it had several times before, and he retrieved it, beginning the idle action again. _I hope Legolas is well._

“Estel, please, will you stop it already? Ada will be here soon enough,” Elrohir complained with patience the likes of which only an Elf is capable, his tone dry and knowing.

Promptly, the Elven Lord stalked through his study door, the door slamming against the wall with a bang until its momentum reversed violently and it smashed shut. The leader strode straight to his desk, his fury obvious, though its object unclear. _Valar, what has Legolas told him? Certainly, he will not respond as the twins have,_ the Ranger worried, straightaway afraid of his father’s reaction to his love for the Woodland Prince.

“Estel,” Elrond barked. Immediately, the Ranger sat up straight, ceasing his rolling of the smooth marble and looking to the Elf who was the only father he had ever known. Rarely did the Elven Lord have the necessity to raise his voice and those few times Estel had always been sorry for the recipient of such an ominous horror, especially when the recipient was he. “How did the merchants in the forest die?”

 _Thank the Valar,_ the Ranger thought, glad that he was not the aim of such loathing. “One lost his head and the other died slowly by the breadth of my blade. Had I more time I would have prolonged their agony,” the human replied frankly, unaware or callous of how his response might sound.

The Peredhel nodded, appeased by the supplied information. “The third one still lives. I would have his head myself although I am sure that Thranduil would enjoy the revenge much more.” The Ranger did not bother to rebut this statement, as he knew that Thranduil would no doubt blame Legolas rather than his rapist for his degradation, but he was thankful for his father’s desire for vengeance. “Legolas is not as well as he would claim. I worry for him.” The elder sat at his desk, pushing forcefully to the side the many papers that would normally claim his attention.

“Ada,” Elladan commenced, shifting in his seat with agitation, “he will be fine with time?”

The source of the twin’s concern was not lost on his brothers or father; the twins had already lost their mother to the same grief and so Elrond was quick to provide, “He is better than I would have expected. Most Elves would have given their souls to Mandos before this point. For him to have lived through two separate attacks is evidence enough of his will to live. I am, however, concerned for his reasoning for staying amongst the living,” the elder replied, giving Aragorn a piercing look. “Legolas says that he came back from grief for you.”

The statement was not a question; however, Estel felt compelled to reply. “He promised he would not leave me.” Fumbling with his words, his hands followed suit, and he dropped the marble – like his thoughts, the glass shattered into pieces. They sprayed across the floor in jagged, shimmering fragments.

“And so he lives only for you, Estel. What would happen should some ill befall you? Or when your mortal life is over? Do you not realize what this will do to him?” The Elven Lord sat forward in his chair, leaning towards the Ranger as he spoke, but Aragorn only stared at the broken bauble on the floor. “I do not know why Legolas feels he has naught for which to live, but living for you will only prolong his suffering.”

Agitated, Elladan inserted, “Which is what we tried to tell you in the forest. Do not make it more difficult for Legolas to recover, brother, by allowing him to continue this affectation.”

The Peredhel inquired with one eyebrow raised, “Of what do you speak?”

The twin shifted nervously in his chair again and glanced at the Ranger apologetically, who only closed his eyes and put his face in his hands. He could still see the glass shards behind his eyes. _Sweet Eru, this is quickly becoming a persecution._

“Perhaps Elladan and I should leave, Ada,” Elrohir suggested under the guise of support. “Estel can tell you.” The Elven Lord considered this suspiciously but soon nodded his assent. The twins promptly hastened from the room.

 _Thanks, brothers,_ the young human thought sarcastically, _for leaving me here to handle Ada’s wrath on my own._ Elrond waited until the door had shut before he moved from behind his massive desk to sit on its edge, right in front of the fidgeting Ranger. He did not speak. _Valar help me._

“Elladan and Elrohir believe that I am harming Legolas by our...” the Ranger paused, looking down in embarrassment to be telling his Ada this. Although the Elven Lord had long ago explained sex to the human, Estel was less forthcoming in explaining sex to the Elven Lord, particularly when he was the topic. “Ada,” he began again, “I love Legolas.” From the unsurprised look on his father’s face, Aragorn knew the Elf had not understood his connotation, and so tried once more. “I am in love with Legolas and he with me.”

For several long minutes the Peredhel sat, staring unemotionally at his son, until Estel began to squirm under the scrutiny. “I did not know you found pleasure in men’s company,” the Elf Lord finally said, his tone nonjudgmental.

He told his foster father, “Not men, Ada. Only Legolas.”

With a short-lived frown, for Elrond was confused as to how he had never noticed the human’s more than friendly affection for the Silvan, the Peredhel then asked, “How long have you been in love with the Prince?”

The Ranger decided to be entirely honest with his father. “I do not know. It was only last night that he and I ever spoke of this, before laying together. I have always loved him, Ada, but it was not until I thought I might lose him that I realized this.”

Frowning yet again, Elrond inquired, “But you had found pleasure in his company before last night?”

Aragorn stared down at the leaf colored splinters scattered across the polished, stone floor and replied, “No. Only last night.”

“Then I can understand your brothers’ concern.” Elrond did something that Aragorn had never seen him do before; the Elf sighed, smiling as he rubbed his face roughly. The action was so unlike the calm Elven Lord that the Ranger would have smiled in return, had not he realized that his father stood before him differently. The Peredhel spoke to the Ranger not as his young, human son, but as a man. “But I am happy for you. Legolas is a pure and true warrior, and his heart is warm.” The Elven Lord stood from his desk and placed his hands on Estel’s shoulders, towering over the human. Looking up, the Ranger could see the forthright understanding in his father’s eyes. “The twins will worry. Their mother was not so easy to accept her family and friends back into her heart. It has come soon. I do not know how Legolas has overcome his fear. I imagine you have been the foundation for his recovery.” Elrond brushed the Ranger’s unruly hair from his face fondly and then sat back down on his desk and crossed his arms. “What of the scar, Estel? Several times as we talked he made to worry it.”

He remembered clearly what Legolas had told him, “He pried it apart when he did not wish to sleep, when he dreamt of the attacks. He said it was the only thing he could feel.” Kneeling down, the Ranger swept the shattered marble into a pile with his fingers. “He used it to remind himself that he was alive, that he had lived through the merchants’ excruciation. When he could not feel the water or his friends, he gripped it so that he _could_ feel.” Aragorn knew he wasn’t making much sense but he began to pick the shards up from the floor and continued anyway, “At times he becomes disconnected, as though he is estranged from everything, and then he grips the scar to confute that numbness.”

As the Ranger spoke, the Peredhel stooped down next to him and turned over the Ranger’s hand such that the collected fragments dumped back onto the floor. Aragorn stared at his father in confusion until the Elven Lord interrupted, saying, “I will try to pick up the pieces, Estel. I sent Legolas to bed. Go see that he is well and then get some rest yourself. We will speak of this later.”

Aragorn grinned, understanding the allusion. “I will make him well,” he promised innocently, which earned him an amused glare from his father. “Good night,” he called as he darted from his father’s hand, which the Elf had flung out in a lighthearted smack.

The Ranger ambled from the room, his own mood lightened with his father’s acceptance. _I should have known. Ada wishes no one ill._ He snickered as he picked up his pace, eager to see his companion, _None but Kane._

When he came to the laegel’s door, he stopped to knock but decided not to bother. _I do not want to wake him,_ he decided as he pushed open the portal.

The pale winter moonlight shone through the balcony doors and the Elf on the wide bed was bathed in Ithil’s offering. Quietly, the Ranger walked to Legolas, smiling as he noted the Elf had not bothered to remove his boots or clothing before he spread out on top of the blankets. _He is tired._ Knowing that any abrupt movement or soft sound might wake his lover, Aragorn crawled onto the bed as gently as he could, positioning himself so that he could watch the rise and fall of the Elf’s chest until sleep claimed him.


	18. Chapter 18

Rolling over on his side, the languid Elf found he was not alone in bed. At first, he could not remember where he was, but he knew he was in Imladris when he heard the faint sound of the waterfall, its noisome splashing a constant throughout the valley. Sunlight spilt through the veranda doors in bars of radiance onto Estel’s sleeping form. _He is beautiful_ , Legolas mused, noting that the Ranger had not bothered to remove his boots or tunic before falling asleep, either. _I wonder when he came in; I did not even hear him._ The Prince knew it was late in the morning, and remembering his promise to Lord Elrond to be at the common table for the morning meal, the reluctant laegel sat up. _No chance Estel is sleeping late if I have to awaken,_ he thought, glancing at the resting man with a playful smile.

The Prince inched closer to the Ranger until he lay against the supine form, his body stretched against the human’s own. Grazing Aragorn’s stubbly neck with his lips, the laegel planted affectionate but somewhat shy kisses up the human’s throat, over his noble jaw, and had just reached the human’s pliant lips when the Ranger roused.

“Greenleaf,” the human croaked, squinting his eyes against the golden, sunlight nimbus that shone around the Elf’s fair head.

“Who else would it be? Have you awoken in the wrong bed, then? Mayhap you were seeking the bed of another Elf,” the Prince teased before suspending Aragorn’s reply by crushing his mouth to the human’s own. Immediately, the drowsy Ranger responded by returning the kiss, running his lissome tongue over the Elf’s open lips while he brought his arms up to clutch Legolas’ body to his. The Wood-Elf savored the taste of his lover for only a few moments before he drew back.

“There is no other Elf for me,” the Ranger retorted, his tone mischievous but his eyes showing his seriousness. Aragorn pushed the flaxen hair from where it had fallen against the Wood-Elf’s forehead, smiling beatifically at his lover – a smile that the Prince returned cheerfully.

The Elf pulled away to sit as he sighed, “Come, Estel. It is late morning and your father expects me at breakfast.” Running his hands through his knotted tresses, the Prince added, “Although I would prefer a bath first. I’ll be setting a bad example for Mirkwood showing to breakfast in this state.”

 _Not that the Imladrians need any prompting to hate the Silvan,_ the Prince added to himself. Many of the Elves in the valley supposed the Wood-Elves to be unkempt and barbaric in culture, although the Wood-Elves held their own derisive views of the haughty, conservative Imladrians.

“We have time for a bath,” the Ranger rejoined encouragingly, rolling to his side to watch the Wood-Elf stand and stretch his long limbs over his head.

Legolas smiled as he strode to the chest at the end of his bed and began his search through it for fresh clothing and an extra brush, his own having been left behind on their journey. Estel’s eyes followed him. “If I don’t show to breakfast on time, your father will worry.”

“Ada knows where you are and who you are with, he will not worry.” With a sudden shift of position, the Ranger was shakily on his feet and walking to the laegel, who had found his brush and had begun untangling his snarled hair. “Besides,” the Ranger teased, kneeling down behind the Wood-Elf to take the brush from his hands and plait his long, blond hair into its customary braids, “I promised him I would make you well, whatever it takes.”

He allowed the human to braid his hair, luxuriating in the sensation of Aragorn’s attention; that is, until the Ranger’s words hit him, and he stiffened. “You have told Elrond of us, then?”

“I have but do not be troubled. Ada has given us his blessing. He will set things straight.” The Ranger tossed the brush back into the trunk when he had finished. He pushed the hair from the back of the Elf’s neck, kissing the pale flesh there. The man’s encouraging words and nearness comforted the laegel. “But come, let us go to breakfast. I am famished and if you are not comestible this morn then I will have to settle for honeyed cakes.” Aragorn rose to his feet, offering his hand out to Legolas.

“Perhaps we will have time for a bath after breakfast,” the laegel snickered. His mirth had returned with Lord Elrond’s seemingly straightforward acceptance. _If only the twins felt the same as their father._

The Prince grasped the proffered hand. He was hauled to his feet and into the Ranger, who enveloped the laegel’s waist with his arms. Legolas let the human hold him, his own desire to feel Estel against him overwhelming his need to please Lord Elrond. As the Ranger burrowed his mouth into the Elf’s neck, the Wood-Elf groaned, the feeling of Aragorn’s blistering, irregular breath on his throat inflaming his latent passion to explore the human’s body further for both their pleasure.

“We will make time,” the Ranger promised ere he trailed his tongue up the Prince’s ear and then flicked it lightly over the sensitive tip. Sighing in resignation, the Ranger rested his chin on Legolas’ shoulder. “Come then, we can’t keep Ada waiting. No doubt he and the twins are already filling your plate with handfuls of food to force upon you.”

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Whatever conversation had dominated the serious breakfast table of the Last Homely House died down when the Ranger and Prince entered. They were among the last to arrive save the twins, who had yet to show. “Legolas, Estel,” Lord Elrond greeted, “I am happy to see that you are not as slothful as my other sons.”

“Elladan and Elrohir are slugs.” Aragorn took his seat and helped himself to the array of foods positioned about the long table. Like clockwork, the two Elves in question – their shirts unlaced and their hair mussed – entered the huge common dining room of the Last Homely House, where any of its myriad occupants might show to share a meal together. The presence of the twins did little to deaden the brightness of Aragorn’s morning; they had promised to speak to Legolas and he would hold them to this pledge.

“We heard that, dear brother. We are no slugs. Do not be so quick to judge, human,” Elrohir taunted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he took his own seat, his jibe one that had floated through the halls of Imladris many times.

Always had the twins teased their foster brother good-naturedly for his heritage; Aragorn replied in turn, “No more quick to judge than you are to rise, Elf.” Elladan grabbed his chest in mock affront for his twin. Those around the table laughed merrily, for they were accustomed to the seemingly callous shows of affection between the three brothers.

Estel turned to see Legolas smiling brilliantly at him. When his brothers were seated, conversations returned to normal, and the Ranger watched his concerned father pile food onto a smiling Legolas’ plate. Catching the Wood-Elf’s eye, the human cocked his eyebrow in imitation of Elrond, who was instructing the laegel to eat. However, the Imladrian Lord saw his youngest son and hoisted his own eyebrow elegantly in quizzical response, much to the delight of Legolas, whose laughter rang joyfully throughout the dining hall.

Heads turned to watch the beautiful Wood-Elf; Aragorn could not help but feel possessive of the Prince. Although most stares were indulgent, a few were hostile, and it was these that Aragorn relished in returning with equivalent antagonism. His protective desire to keep the Prince free of their unwarranted bigotry was always quick to surface, but now, with Legolas only just recovering from the prejudice of humans, the Ranger was especially quick to quell the Elves’ unjustified detestation. The twins, the Ranger noted with satisfaction, were also glaring at the offended Elves. Only Legolas seemed oblivious to their stares and continued his conversation with Lord Elrond. Aragorn knew better. _He is used to their animosity._

He had long sated his hunger, his thoughts on the coming day, when Elladan’s call interrupted the Ranger’s musing.

“Estel. Elrohir and I were hoping that after breakfast you and Legolas would join us at the archery field,” the twin offered affably, looking expectantly down the table to the Prince. The only ones left at the table were the twins, Aragorn, the Prince, and Lord Elrond, who had remained to ensure that the Wood-Elf ate properly. The table grew silent in anticipation of the laegel’s answer.

At first, Aragorn worried that the suggestion was not well received, for the Wood-Elf kept his face down to stare intently at the diminished plate of food before him, but ere the silence grew strained, Legolas flashed a disarming smile at Elladan, and replied, “Of course, but if you do not mind, I would ask that we meet in the afternoon. I have need of a long bath.”

The Ranger grinned knowingly, but the placated twins only nodded. _They will talk to him._ The Prince excused himself, pleading that he had eaten enough breakfast for several days, and when the Peredhel grudgingly let him go, Aragorn left shortly thereafter. _I have need of a bath, too._

After excusing himself from breakfast, Aragorn quickly made his way to the apothecary. Among the many sacks and jars of herbs, the Ranger sought a small phial of slippery oil typically used for soothing inflamed skin, one he knew to be perfect for his intentions. If Legolas was not ready to further the degree of their lovemaking, the Ranger would not be upset, but he planned to arrive prepared. Sliding the capped phial into his pocket, Estel returned to the Wood-Elf’s rooms, momentarily stopping outside the door to listen. The faint sound of the Prince singing caught his attention; when he pushed open the door, the laegel’s voice hit the Ranger, the full timbre of it akin to a quaff of bittersweet wine. Pausing only to remove his boots, Aragorn strode into the bathing chambers. Legolas continued his impromptu song but smiled in greeting.

The Wood-Elf sat chest deep in the warmed water, his sopping, fair hair hanging limply around his pointed ears. He was leaning against the marbled surface of the tub, lightly rubbing his body free of the weary toil of travel and time. As the Ranger tugged his tunic over his head, he inhaled the clean scent of soap that permeated the air, and was as eager to bathe as he was to spend time with his companion. Only when the human had removed his trousers and tossed them into his heaped clothing on the bathing room’s floor did the laegel cease singing.

The Elf’s eyes roamed the Ranger’s body covetously; his hands reached out to Estel before the human had even entered the bathtub. As soon as the Adan had waded through the pool of water near enough to Legolas, the more than willing Aragorn was drawn down by the Wood-Elf into sitting such that the Ranger’s back lay against the Prince’s chest and he sat between the Elf’s sprawled legs.

“You are late, human. I have already had my bath.” The laegel began to massage Estel’s chest and belly under the water, his languorous, long white fingers perusing the man’s torso.

Relaxing fully against his sinewy companion, the Ranger watched the Elf’s fingers caressing him underwater – the sporadic flash of the wintry sun from the bathing room’s window obscured his view by its shimmer on the water’s surface. Sighing, the Ranger lamented, “Then I have missed all the fun.” Legolas chuckled, sending ripples of water out through the stilled bath with the movement of his chest. “Perhaps you can keep me company while I bathe,” the Ranger suggested.

The Prince did not bother to reply aloud, his questing fingers answered for him, chafing pleasurably the taut skin of the human’s body with the fragrant water. He had desired this intimacy with the Elf for so long that to experience it seemed surreal, and the Ranger mused, _Had not Legolas suffered, this convalescence may have never happened, nor our mutual admission of love._ However, these thoughts disturbed Aragorn’s enjoyment of the Elf’s massaging hands, and so he pushed his worries away, focusing instead on Legolas’ ministrations until a soft knock at the door interrupted the silence, and the Wood-Elf groaned.

“Only a moment,” Legolas promised as he slid from behind the Ranger and stood swiftly to retrieve a robe. The time between the Elf’s departure from the water to the table where his robe laid was a short one for the admiring human, who could not help but observe with desire the rivulets of water running down the Elf's body.

When the Prince had wrapped the robe about him, he padded barefoot to his bedroom door, and the Ranger waded to the opposite side of the tub to try to conceal his presence from the doorway of the bathing chamber. _No point in starting rumors yet,_ the human jested, awaiting the Prince to acknowledge who had disrupted them.

“Prince Legolas, I am sorry to disturb you while you are bathing, but Lord Elrond has asked me to see that you get this.” The sound of unrolling parchment in the outer room met the Ranger’s ears, as did the Prince’s words of gratitude and the soft thud of the door being shut.

Aragorn dunked his head under the water, scrubbed his hair and face roughly, before he surfaced for air. Legolas had not reappeared. _I wonder what father has sent him._

He called out to the Prince, “Greenleaf?”

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After several long moments, the distracted laegel responded, “Only a moment.” Legolas sat on the bed to reread the missive, certain that he was mistaken. Lord Elrond had relayed to him a letter from his father, one that the Elf-King had sent via the Prince's sentries, and the news was ill.

_He knows._

A naked, wet, and shivering Ranger appeared at the bathing room door, though the Wood-Elf did not notice until the man spoke, his eyes never leaving the flowing script on the page, which he knew to be his father’s handwriting. “What does it say?”

Legolas looked up, grinning in absent appreciation of his nude lover ere he lowered his gaze back to the damning letter, his vision swimming with the rush of apprehension his father’s knowledge brought. “He knows,” the laegel explained simply.

“Who?” Aragorn sat beside him on the coverlet, heedless of his drenched form, and the Prince merely handed him the scroll. While the Ranger read, the Wood-Elf stood, retrieving his brush mechanically to tend his wet hair.

 _I should have known. Nothing escapes Ada’s attention. Two dead merchants from Lake-town would never go overlooked, not by the border patrol, and not when my long knife was found amongst their remains._ Since the Elvenking had known Legolas to be with Aragorn and his body had not been found at the site, the King had assumed correctly that the Prince was alive and in Imladris. The dead merchants must have been found shortly after Estel and Legolas' departure from that part of the woods, and with better horses and without an unconscious Legolas with which to cope, the sentries had moved faster than the Prince and Ranger such that they had almost beat the pair to Imladris.

The letter had been a warning, thinly veiled with false concern, for the Prince to return to Mirkwood at once. It had also alluded to Thranduil’s knowing of Legolas’ torment at the merchants’ hands; it was this that worried the Elf the most. _It is my fault. I was weak and could not stop them. I have compromised relations with Lake-town. I have disgraced Mirkwood. I should have died or let Estel die to save myself,_ the Elf predicted, as he also knew this is what his father’s reaction would be.

Aragorn stood, placing the scroll on the nightstand as he moved to stand beside the Prince. “It is too soon. Ada will soothe your father. You cannot leave now, you have only just arrived.”

“Estel –”

“Make no excuses for him,” the Ranger interrupted, waving his hand dismissively at the Wood-Elf’s unspoken defense of his father. “I know what awaits you upon your return. Do not go back to Mirkwood yet, please. Your father is mad.”

His own ire roused, the laegel stepped away from the human and his hand flew unconsciously to grip his scar, though he stopped himself ere the Ranger noticed. “He is not just my father. He is my King and I am bound by duty to obey his command.” However, the stricken look on the Ranger’s face made the Prince add, “Perhaps I will stay for a few days. I need to speak to Kalin about it.”

Although he was obviously not pleased, Estel nodded and reseated himself on the bed. _He will try to persuade me or he will have Lord Elrond tie me to a bed. I have only given him extra time to plot how to keep me here._

“Do not be angry with me, Estel.” Legolas let the robe around his shoulders fall to the floor as he shoved the human tenderly back onto the bed. Laying himself on his side beside his lover, the Prince whispered into Aragorn’s ear, affectionately stroking the man’s damp chest all the while, “I would not think of him or of anything else for that matter. I want only to think of you.”

From the needy, lustful glint in the man’s eyes, the Elf gathered the man was more than happy to comply.

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Aragorn was not about to let the Elf off the hook so easily concerning Thranduil’s letter, but the distress of his father knowing was still too fresh for the Prince, and so the Ranger kept his peace. _He does not need my doubts in addition to his own._

Legolas had found an interesting place to lap at the man’s flesh and the Ranger felt his cogency leaving him in response to the Elf’s attentions. Each time the Elf’s tongue slipped down the lobe of the human’s ear, the Prince would slide his hand lower down Estel’s bath dampened chest, ere the hand traveled upwards to stroke his muscled torso again. Aragorn could lie still no longer. He turned on his side, facing the laegel. Legolas was flushed with lust; the Ranger confirmed this suspicion as he pressed against the Silvan’s lithe body, for the Elf’s firm flesh rubbed provocatively against the human’s growing arousal. Urgent to taste the Wood-Elf, Aragorn hungrily barraged the smooth lips before him, pushing past the laegel’s teeth to plunge his tongue into Legolas’ willing mouth. The Elf responded by wrapping his leg over the Ranger’s hip, grating their arousals together slowly.

When their breath had left them, they pulled apart, their mouths only inches away as the Wood-Elf asked unsurely, “Will you take me?”

The Ranger could not decipher whether the Prince desired to be taken or not, for the lust shining in the Elf’s eyes belied the uncertain tone of the laegel’s voice. “Always I have wanted you. If you desire it, I would have you now, Greenleaf. But we will do nothing that you do not wish.” He watched the Wood-Elf, restless to know what Legolas wanted.

“I want to feel you.” The Prince slipped his hand through the damp hair at the top of the man’s head, slicking the dark curls back and away from Aragorn’s face. “I want to feel you inside of me. I want only to think of you.”

His words nearly drove the Ranger over the edge, so great did his desire consume him at the prurient but somehow still honestly innocent ardor with which the Elf spoke. Groaning reflexively, the Ranger’s lips sought Legolas’ lips; no words could describe his lust, but the vehemence with which he kissed the Wood-Elf spoke volumes, and Aragorn felt his desire heighten.

Legolas’ hand strayed down between them, taking the Ranger’s stiffened cock in the grip of his long fingers. The Elf stroked his flesh agilely until Aragorn’s need was rising too quickly; and so, he pulled the Wood-Elf’s hand gently from his member even as he pulled his mouth from his lover's, and then climbed to his knees beside the Prince. He planned to take his time with Legolas, knowing that though the Elf’s lust may be roused, his fear may be awakened, too.

 _Slowly,_ he advised himself, peppering damp kisses along the laegel’s smooth jaw and throat. _Do not rush him._

Estel straddled the Wood-Elf’s thighs, his body hovering above the Prince’s as he crouched on his knees to pleasure Legolas’ responsive form. He took in his mouth one of the roseate buds upon Legolas’ chest, tugging the tightening flesh while he kneaded the other with his hand. As the Prince moaned softly, the Ranger slid his hand down the Wood-Elf’s still wet torso, moving his hand along Legolas’ sculpted flesh until his fingers met the Elf's rigid cock. Legolas thrust his hips upwards, eager to initiate the feeling of his arousal in the man’s wandering hands, but Aragorn evaded the contact, instead preferring to let the Elf’s desire linger by rubbing his honed stomach instead. The Ranger’s tongue teased his lover’s nipple, swathing the tender bud as his teeth grazed the swollen skin sporadically.

“Estel, please. I need you.”

When the human looked up from his attentions to the laegel, he was awed by the beautiful Elf lying before him. The Prince’s sodden, golden mane was splayed out across the blanket and his cobalt eyes were shining with unrepressed desire. The Ranger let his fingers comb through the dark blond hair between the Elf’s legs, which was the only other noticeable pelt on his pale body save for the Prince’s eyebrows, lashes, and fair tresses. Aragorn watched Legolas’ face while he foraged downwards, enjoying the Elf’s flushing countenance. Brushing the base of the Silvan’s shaft, the Ranger grinned roguishly when the Prince’s engorged member twitched at the slight contact.

Legolas slapped playfully at the man’s head, missing only because the Ranger shifted his position to press his lips against the Wood-Elf’s untended nipple. “Do not tease me, human, or I promise I will wear you out.”

Snorting, the Ranger released his mouth’s hold on the distended bud to reply, “You promise?”

He gave the Prince no time for a rejoinder when his fingers sought again the Elf’s cock to wrap around its girth. Legolas thrust his hips instinctively upwards again, but this time the Ranger loosened his grasp, allowing the Elf to push his shaft through Aragorn’s slack fist. He revisited the neglected nipple, nibbling the peaked bud until the Wood-Elf was moaning with the dual sensation of the human’s mouth and the friction of his hand. However, Estel yearned to taste the Wood-Elf, not merely to touch him, and he wanted the laegel relaxed, so he abandoned the delicate flesh of the Elf’s chest to lave his smooth torso, moving ever downwards all the while. Each press of his lips to the Silvan’s sculpted torso elicited another moan from the Wood-Elf, who had not ceased his hips’ writhing into the pleasure of the human’s grasping hand. When the Prince’s thrusts had become most insistent and the Ranger had finally kissed his way to the downy pelt surrounding Legolas’ arousal, Aragorn removed his hand. The Prince rumbled in complaint at the abrupt loss of pleasure.

“Not yet. Wait,” he susurrated.

Once more, the Wood-Elf had not the chance to reply when the Ranger replaced the absence of his hand with his eager mouth, sucking the head of Legolas’ shaft between his lips. Although careful not to aggravate the scarred flesh of the Elf’s thigh or the wound on Legolas' belly, Aragorn caressed whatever skin his hands could reach, massaging Legolas’ lust-tensed muscles. He drew as much of the Wood-Elf’s shaft into his mouth as he could, using his tongue to tease the Prince into a frenzy and bobbing his head up and down over the rigid column.

 _I will never grow tired of his taste._ Estel felt the Elf’s hands tightening in his hair. Legolas' body was humming with passion when the Ranger switched his attention elsewhere, leaving the Wood-Elf’s cock. He glanced up at Legolas and was satisfied to note that the Prince was watching him. _I want him to know it is me._

Aragorn situated himself fully between the Elf’s legs, flanked by them, ere he lay on his stomach on the bed. With his hands under the Elf’s hips, the Ranger positioned Legolas’ legs so that they rested over Aragorn's shoulders, spreading the Elf’s thighs as he nuzzled between them, licking the soft skin there until he had reached his quarry. The first flick of the Ranger’s tongue on the silken flesh of the Silvan’s orifice caused Legolas to buck his hips and then to let loose a stifled cry. Promptly, the human checked his Elven lover’s expression, and seeing that the Wood-Elf was still watching him and the lust had not left the Elf’s eyes, Aragorn bent forward to lick the aperture again, moving his hands under the Elf’s thighs, bringing them around to fondle Legolas’ stiff shaft as he prodded the laegel’s opening. He ran his tongue under the Silvan’s tautened sacs and back to the Prince’s aperture.

“Take me, Estel,” the Prince all but begged, his back arched into the human’s machinations. The Ranger could not help but to feel that the Silvan would never have been so brazen with anyone else; knowing this caused the man’s chest to swell with love, while other parts of him swelled with desire.

 _Perhaps it is time,_ the Ranger pondered, not wishing to cease his pleasuring the Elf long enough to retrieve the phial of oil from his tunic pocket. He stopped, however, and with a final brush of his tongue against the Elf’s opening and then the tip of his cock, the Ranger inched his way over the laegel’s body. He pressed his mouth to the damp skin of the Prince’s torso yet again as he made his way to Legolas’ nipples, throat, and ear, finally suckling the pointed flesh there as he pressed his body down onto the Elf’s form, chafing their erections together.

“Wait here,” he instructed his Elven lover.  

Although he made to extricate himself, Legolas grabbed Estel's arms to hold the Ranger against him. He queried, his voice wracked with lust, “Where are you going?”

Smiling in apology, the Ranger answered, “Only to get something from my tunic. Do not worry.” The laegel released his hold, squirming in pleasure as the human’s body swept across his own when Aragorn stood to collect the phial from the bathing room.

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He lay on the bed, his breathing coming in short, heavy gasps. The human had been gone only seconds but his absence was an acute ache in the Elf’s being, a void only the Ranger could fill. The Prince’s passion astounded him, for after his abuse in the merchants’ merciless hands and his subsequent terrified humiliation, Legolas had not thought ever to endure the intimate presence of another.

He could hear the rustle of cloth in the bathing room. _Hurry, Estel._ Although he wanted the Ranger to return, each moment was an eternity in which the Elf’s mind refilled with the bombardment of the troublesome memories and doubts that plagued him, inciting within him the yearning to flee, to cover his nakedness, or to return to his shame. Legolas closed his eyes, trying desperately to shut out the fear winding through him. When he heard the soft footfalls of the human’s bare feet on the carpeted stone floor, and then felt the heaviness of his lover climbing onto the bed, the Prince opened his eyes.

The Ranger said nothing as he stared into the laegel’s face but he must have discerned his apprehension, for he reassured Legolas, “You are more important to me than a moment of pleasure. You’ve only to tell me to stop. Do not hesitate, Greenleaf. We will do nothing that you do not desire.”

Grabbing hold of the Ranger’s shoulders, the Prince pulled the human down to him, pressing his lips to Aragorn’s in a kiss that deepened with the Elf’s renewed passion. The touch of his lover was all he needed.

Legolas pulled away, his hands stroking the human’s back as he replied, “I desire you, Estel.”

Aragorn smiled in such a way that confirmed to the Prince in some hazy part of his mind that he had made the right decision in battling his grief to be with the Ranger. He watched as the human shifted to the position he had held earlier between the Wood-Elf’s splayed legs, wondering what the man had procured from his tunic. As the Elf’s desire had not waned, his at ready shaft jerked when the Ranger’s scorching breath hit his already burning flesh. The erotic sight of his lover’s tongue flicking out to catch the pearly drop of semen from the slit on the head of his shaft had the Prince moaning without bashfulness.

Aragorn smiled again, demanding, “Not yet. Patience.” Although Legolas could not imagine how the intense pleasure he felt could become any more gratifying, he was willing to heed the Ranger’s advice.

He felt the sensation of the human’s tongue when it again shot out, but this time it found the Prince’s opening, prodding the tight ring of muscle relentlessly with its slickness as the man’s hands caressed the Elf’s stomach. Spreading his legs further, Legolas lifted his hips from the bed, desperate to increase the foray into his aperture.

“Please,” he found himself repeating.  

He knew he was begging and yet he did not care. The Ranger looked up from his attentions, his eyes dark with lust. He said nothing although he seized a phial from the bedspread beside them, uncapping it as he moved to his knees, still between the Elf’s legs. Aragorn spread the lubricant over Legolas’ opening, teasing the clenching flesh with his rough fingertips. The Prince thrust his rear downwards towards the Ranger’s roaming fingers, desiring what he feared – he wanted the man to take him, to erase the painful memory of the merchants’ degraded lust with that of the Ranger’s affection, but he feared to feel the same pain with Aragorn, for he knew it would break him.

“Greenleaf. Open your eyes. Look at me,” the Ranger softly commanded.

Legolas had not been aware his eyes were closed; when he opened them, his blue orbs met the human’s worried silver ones. When one slick finger nudged his opening, he abandoned his dread, instead reveling in the feeling of the man’s digit pushing into him. Aragorn slid his slippery finger deeper within the Elf, giving the Prince time to acclimate to the invasion. It did not hurt; nevertheless, Legolas tensed, prepared for the friction, but not primed for the pleasure when Aragorn’s digit brushed deep within him, exciting the small rise that brought immeasurable gratification to the Prince.

As he moaned, his hips squirming to repeat the sensation, the Ranger withdrew his finger, coating it again with oil ere he pushed back inside the Elf’s willing body, caressing the area again and making white spots dance before the Prince's eyes. Another finger joined the first and to Legolas’ amazement and relief, there was no pain, only the awakening of a powerful need to please the Ranger as much as the Ranger was pleasing him. Aragorn slipped his fingers into the Wood-Elf’s aperture and out again slowly, never pulling completely free, but relaxing the Prince’s tightness with his gentle, scissoring ministrations.

Legolas did not remove his regard from Aragorn’s loving gaze; at least, not until the human removed his fingers to take the phial in hand again, pouring a generous amount into his palm before slicking it over his arousal. The sensual display heightened the laegel’s awareness of what would come next, and his body responded. His own rigid shaft almost hurt with the strength of his need. Moving on his hands and knees, Estel’s mouth fervently sought the Wood-Elf’s lips before the Ranger inquired, “Are you sure?”

As hesitant as he was, he knew the Ranger would not hurt him, and so the Prince reassured the cautious human, “I am certain.”

Aragorn kissed the Elf again and then returned to his knees, lifting Legolas’ legs from the bedspread to spread the focus of both their concentration – the Prince’s waiting opening. Wrapping his arms under his thighs, the laegel held his legs wide, allowing the Ranger the use of his hands. After a final slick of oil, Estel held his engorged shaft in hand and pressed its tip against the Wood-Elf’s fissure, gradually widening the aperture to accept his length. Despite himself, Legolas panicked, his body clenched at the invasion, and a muffled moan of pain escaped him as his eyes snapped shut.

“Legolas.” He could not look at the Ranger. He was ashamed that he could not control his fear. “Ai Valar, Greenleaf, please, look at me.” Only the human’s lachrymose tone compelled the Prince to comply. “I am sorry. I did not intend to hurt you, but it will be uncomfortable at first.” Seeing the love and reassurance in the Ranger’s face, Legolas nodded, breathing deeply and forcing himself to relax.

“Do not stop, Estel,” he whispered.  

The Ranger didn’t. He pushed deeper into the Prince, his anxious scrutiny met with the laegel’s forcefully composed gaze. The discomfort of the Ranger’s shaft penetrating him abated as the human stopped his advance and the Elf calmed. His desire overwhelmed him when Aragorn grunted softly; he could see that the human was fighting his own needs to see to the Elf’s first.

 _Even now, I do naught but worry him._ Legolas’ vexing thoughts fled when the Ranger stirred, his shaft massaging the deep-seated source of pleasure within the Prince.

“Estel, please.” When the human’s eyes narrowed, his face alight with guilt at what he must have perceived to be pain on Legolas’ part, the laegel added, “Do that again.”

Immediately, the now grinning human obeyed, rolling his hips forward to stroke within the Wood-Elf’s body, and at once the Prince cried out, the white spots afore his eyes becoming like lightning as pleasure raced throughout him. Again the Ranger moved, gently pitching forward inside the Elf, and eliciting another cry of enjoyment from the Prince. Setting a leisurely, rocking rhythm, the Ranger took Legolas’ hard shaft in his oiled hand, stroking his flesh lightly as he moved. The Elf rocked his own hips in tandem with the Ranger’s movements, meeting each gentle thrust with his own, until their pace quickened, and each thrust sent the human’s shaft deeper within him and his own member more quickly through Aragorn’s grasping hand. There was no pain and whatever discomfort he felt had left him in favor of the unfathomable devotion and ardor the Ranger demonstrated.

Legolas spread his legs wider; he wrapped them around Aragorn in an attempt to lift his hips higher to accept as much of his lover into him as he could. In response, the Ranger, who was quickly losing himself to the rhythm of their coupling, briskly began to drive his hips back and forth, and thus his shaft deeper inside the Silvan. Suddenly, the Ranger slowed, thrusting in a deliberate, forceful motion, his hand on the Elf’s member mirroring this pace – it was both their undoing. The Prince’s body began to contract around the human’s hard length, his own climax on its verge. Aragorn, the Prince could see, was flushed, his skin glistening with the glow of their efforts, though his eyes never left the Elf’s gaze.

“Spill your seed inside me,” he demanded, unaware of the lewdness of his suggestion, though Estel responded with a groan upon hearing it.

_Erase their memory, Estel._

Estel nodded, his mouth agape as he gasped for air, as he continued his unyielding, irregular pounding into the Wood-Elf’s primed body. Legolas did not close his eyes, but the white light seemed to sear them, and when his own seed spilled, the sensation of the Ranger’s hot essence inside him and the insistent stroking of his shaft finally broke his fear.


	19. Chapter 19

His mind was completely clear. His heart heaved but it was not unpleasant. His gaze had never left his lover’s face, and so when the Elf dropped his legs, his body falling slack onto the bed, Aragorn knew it was from the spending of pleasure, not from fear or pain. For his own part, the Ranger determined absentmindedly that he would never grow exhausted of the Wood-Elf’s camaraderie, for the look of absolute ecstasy the Prince revealed when he had found his release was a sight the human yearned to see as frequently as possible. Carefully withdrawing from the laegel’s body, an action that elicited a sigh from his companion, Estel crumpled to the bedspread beside him, laying his head on the Prince’s chest. The heart under his ear beat just as fast as his own – Estel grew suddenly sober at the thought that it had almost stopped, that Legolas may not have been lying here with the human had it not been for the fortitude of the Elf’s heart, a strength the Ranger knew was not one of self-preservation, but for him.

_I do not deserve such devotion._

When the Prince’s arms wound around the Ranger, the Elf’s strong limbs pulling their naked, clammy bodies together, Legolas whispered, “Thank you.” Although he wasn’t sure what the Elf was thanking him for, the Elf’s blissful, untroubled demeanor quieted his questions.

_What little peace we will have until Legolas must leave, I will not ruin._

“You are more than welcome, my beautiful Greenleaf.”

The Wood-Elf said nothing, but buried his face in the damp curls at the top of the Ranger’s head. Estel lay content, his hand idly tracing the laegel’s wiry chest. _He is too thin. Ada will not let him leave until he is better. Thranduil must have more concern for his son than this._ The Ranger closed his eyes, the unbidden thoughts meandering their way into his otherwise halcyon consciousness. _He cannot leave me. His Ada will not be worried for him. He will destroy him. Legolas is resilient but I do not know how much more he can suffer. Perhaps Ada can talk to Thranduil._ Another sigh drew the Ranger’s attention from his musings to look at the Elf’s fair face. Legolas’ eyes were half-lidded, his breathing lethargic. Aragorn lay his head back down on the Elf’s chest, adjusting his position until the now slower pounding of the Prince’s heart seemed to echo throughout his head. _He is exhausted even now._

“Estel?” The sleepy voice roused the Ranger, whose eyes flew open, recognizing with a start that he had been drowsing. “It is almost afternoon and I am sure your brothers are already waiting at the archery range.” Legolas ran his nimble fingers lightly down the Ranger’s back while burrowing his face against Aragorn’s curly mop.

 _I must have fallen asleep._ He rumbled deep in his throat, unable yet to articulate any thoughts aloud.

The Prince laughed, the hearty sound compelling the Ranger to flip onto his back, pulling the laegel with him. “Kaimamoroko.” Legolas chortled, his mirth contagious to the Ranger.

“Sleepy bear? I think not.” The snorting Estel closed his eyes again in mock slumber. “Besides, it cannot be afternoon yet.”

“It is not yet afternoon, kaimamoroko, and if you would wake long enough to listen, you would have heard me say as much.” The Prince freed himself of the Ranger’s arms, kissing the human’s forehead before he scooted off the bed.

Unable to resist the chance to see the Prince unclothed, Estel rolled onto his side to observe the lithe laegel walk into the bathing room. The sound of splattering water soon followed and the Ranger groaned, knowing he would be forced into rising eventually. He sat up, catching the laegel’s humming as he washed the remnants of their lovemaking from his body. Sighing, the Ranger crawled from the colossal bed and stumbled to the washing room. Legolas was standing in the now cold water, splashing himself, smiling with blithe deportment. Aragorn stepped into the bathwater and was immediately drenched with the cool liquid when the Prince smacked the surface of the pool towards him, effectively sending a wave of the scented water up in the air.

The Ranger sputtered, “Why is it you always seek to douse me in cold water?” He shook his head violently, sending tiny droplets about the room. The snickering laegel leapt from the pool to grab a drying cloth from the stack of clean linen nearby.

“Come now, kaimamoroko. If we do not show at the archery range soon I fear the twins will come to find us and I do not wish them to find you drowned in my bathing pool.” With that, the Prince had exited the room and Estel was left soaked and disappointed that they had not the time for more than a just a bath.

_This kaimamoroko will have his revenge._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When both Ranger and Elf had bathed, dressed, and gathered their bows, the duo made their way outside, avoiding the most well traversed halls of the Last Homely House, but not, however, avoiding the Prince’s head sentry, who was awaiting the arrival of his charge.

“Prince Legolas,” a friendly, well-armed Elf hailed, crossing the field towards the Prince and Ranger, who had been engaged in lighthearted, meaningless conversation as they walked to the archery range. He stopped before his Prince, who was also his friend, and bowed deeply before he stood upright. The Wood-Elf smiled in relieved affableness. “I am ecstatic to see you, my Prince, alive and smiling.”

“Good morning, Kalin,” Legolas returned, grasping the sentry’s forearm tightly in greeting.

“It is good to see you again, Estel.” The sentry grasped the Ranger’s forearm as he had his Prince’s arm. “On behalf of my King, I give thanks for your part in the safekeeping of our Prince.”

The Ranger accepted this warm welcome from Kalin and replied, “Tell King Thranduil it was my pleasure.”

Legolas watched the formalities, altogether too aware that Kalin would desire a conference with him. _He will not be pleased when I try to convince him to delay our return home for a few days._

Kalin stepped back and clasped his hands behind his waist. “I was rather hoping you could tell him yourself. He is expecting you to accompany us upon our return.”

“Of course, Kalin, I will –“

The Prince interrupted, “Estel will not be coming to Eryn Galen with us.” Ignoring the hurt and shrewd look the Ranger gave him, Legolas implored his sentry, “Come, and tell me the news of our home. Since you are here waiting for me, I assume you know that we are meeting the twins at the archery range, but Estel can go ahead to tell them I will be along shortly.” At this point, Aragorn’s hurt had turned to dejection; however, the man nodded and forced a smile as he quickly walked ahead of them, leaving the two Wood-Elves alone. When the Ranger was well out of earshot, Legolas asked, “He is angry is he not?”

Kalin knew of whom Legolas spoke and answered immediately, turning a sympathetic face to his Prince. “King Thranduil is livid.”

The sentry was fidgeting nervously. “He is not only livid, my Prince, but…” Kalin stopped walking to grab his charge’s arm anxiously. “I was called upon to inspect the place where the humans’ bodies were found, once the patrol located your long knife with their remains. In addition to your long knife, I recognized remnants of your clothing, adorned with the crest of the Greenwood, along with other small possessions.” Swallowing thickly, the Prince’s loyal sentry explained, “Your blood was upon the humans, a rope, a tree, and the ground, so I feared the worst for you. The merchants were partially undressed...” his sentry began but did not finish.

Kalin looked very much as if he did not wish to say aloud his fear that his beloved Prince had been tormented and defiled. Legolas had the sudden urge to lie, to deny the entire situation so he would never have to face it, so he would never have to suffer others’ questions or their distress at his shame. Legolas began walking again, keeping his footsteps slow so that he would have time to think before they arrived at the archery range. To assure is faithful friend, the Prince did not elaborate by finishing Kalin’s thought but tried to convince his guard, “I am well, I promise you. Estel has aided me, as have the twins and Lord Elrond.”

Because his Prince did not deny the guard’s assumptions, the sentry’s worst fear for Legolas was now confirmed. Kalin’s fists clenched at his sides, his usual merriness was now only murderous wrath. The younger Silvan knew Kalin well enough to know that his sentry was wishing that he had been present to keep his charge safe – or if nothing else, to have had some part in the killing of Sven and Cort. Legolas fought the urge to sigh while thinking, _Kalin will blame himself for this._

When the now reticent and enraged sentry was in step with him, the Prince continued, “He is not only livid?” Kalin’s fair brow knotted in confusion at the change in topic. Legolas prompted, “You said my father is not only livid?”

 _The forest in Imladris is much different from that of Eryn Galen._ He inspected this realization, wondering idly why this should be so while the sentry gathered a tactful way to explain to his friend what Legolas already knew – Thranduil blamed his son for being pathetic and stupid. He would claim that Legolas had allowed the men to take him because he was not fit to be a Prince. Thranduil would use Legolas’ love for his father and his kingdom to belittle the Prince into accepting his culpability in his defilement.

“I have been ordered to take you back…whether you desire to go or not,” the sentry whispered apologetically. “He is angered with the Ranger for slaying the humans, but his true ire he saves for you, my Prince. I have never seen him as upset as when we delivered the news of the merchants’ deaths. They were traders in Lake-town for one of the wealthiest merchants there. Your father is worried that what has happened will interrupt our trade with the humans.”

As callous as the logic sounded, the Prince was not surprised. _Duty before sentiment. Is that not what he always told me?_

Speaking so freely only because his sole audience was his Prince, who was his confidante as much as Kalin was his Prince’s trusted companion, the sentry hissed in aggravation, “Even though he knows that the men assaulted you, he would choose diplomacy over his own son. Thranduil is daft. He blames you. He believes you to have desired the humans’ treatment and that the Ranger killed them unnecessarily or from jealousy. He believes Estel to have despoilt you and that he has fooled you into lying with him, that the Ranger is your lover and the assault is not but more of Estel’s corruptive influence.”

His father’s denunciation of his and Aragorn’s relationship was something the laegel knew would happen, and yet his using it as a reason for his son’s attack was something for which Legolas had not been prepared. Indeed, that the Elf-King already suspected that Estel and the Prince had lain together was a shock in and of itself. _He expects little of me. Ada cannot truly believe that I would willingly give myself over to such treatment._ He ignored the dreadful suspicion that in fact he had given himself over willingly to the merchants. _I did it to save Estel,_ the Prince argued, albeit weakly, for he knew then that despite what his father may believe about his attack, the truth was just as damaging. _I gave myself to them for Estel. Father will see it no other way than my weakness. He would that I had let Estel die._

When the Woodland Prince did not respond, his sentry continued, rambling to fill the awkward quiet, “Legolas, your father has promised the merchants’ employer that you will make reparations to him.”

 _Kane._ The Prince shuddered in remembrance. _I am to make recompense to my rapist. No, not my rapist – my lover, as my father would believe it._ While his father knew of the second incident, he did not know of the first. _I am not sure his knowing would change his mind about my making reparations._ Kalin had stopped their progress yet again, his hand finding the Prince’s shoulder. Legolas could not feel it.

 _The woods are different because in Imladris there is little reason to be afraid,_ Legolas finally decided. He loved his home; however, Mirkwood was tainted.

_As are you. Ada is right. You are pathetic._

His leg gave way beneath him, the scar pulsating with undulations of the loathing and shame he had thought gone. He sank heavily in the melted snow, though he paid no heed to the cold or the jagged stones of the pathway slicing his knees. His trousers did not hinder his fingers from digging at the closed wound, his fingernails biting through the cloth and flesh as he tried to rip the polluted voice from his consciousness.

 _I am not tainted,_ he countered feebly, aware but insensible that Kalin had knelt beside him and was speaking to him. _Ada is wrong._

Kalin began to shake him, but it was his satisfaction with the pain his burrowing fingers produced that brought the Prince out of his fear. _Duty before sentiment. I will go back to Mirkwood. I will not be weak. I will not be pathetic. Estel will not accompany me. I would not have him endure my father’s wrath with me._

“Legolas, please. What is it?”

The sentry had noticed the Prince’s mauling hand and fought with Legolas to remove his bloodied fingers from his seeping thigh. The Prince stood, nearly throwing Kalin to the side with the abrupt motion. Legolas strode to a puddle of melted snow water and dunked his fingers in before drying them on his cloak, which he then tied tightly around him to hide his bleeding thigh.

“My Prince?”

The emotionless, detached demeanor the Prince exuded only heightened the sentry’s fear for his charge’s well-being, but he rose from his knees and bowed slightly in compliance when Legolas commanded, “We will leave tomorrow morning at first light. See that the others are prepared.” Striding towards the archery field, the Prince left a worried, miserable sentry to stare after him.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The twins were right where Aragorn expected them. An old, gnarled oak tree, its branches reaching high into the vast blue sky, stood proudly at the edge of the archery range. Before Estel had ever met Legolas, his brothers had told the human child that the tree was older than even they were. Its wide branches had been Aragorn’s favorite place to watch the flashing blades and singing arrows as Elrohir and Elladan received training from Lord Glorfindel, when Estel was still too young to participate.

“Estel!” Elladan leapt from his seat on a low branch to land deftly on his feet. “We were beginning to think that you and Legolas were not up to the challenge.”

“And we may yet be right, brother,” Elrohir retorted, slipping down to the earth next to his twin. He looked to Aragorn with apprehension. “Where is Legolas?”

As much as he loved his brothers, they oft took it upon themselves to solve his problems; his current dilemma he was unsure whether to discuss. _I cannot handle their questions. Although I am sure they know more of Thranduil’s temperament than I do,_ the Ranger contemplated, ignoring pointedly his brothers’ perplexed gazes.

Elladan repeated his twin’s question, his eyes lit with alarm, “Where is Legolas?”

“He is fine, brother. He will be late. He is speaking with Kalin concerning his return to Mirkwood.” The Ranger observed his brothers’ reactions to the news guardedly, hoping the twins would be as worried as he was, such that together they could convince Legolas to remain, but also that even should the twins not be worried, they could placate the fear the Ranger felt for the Wood-Elf’s departure. Elladan and Elrohir grimaced in tandem, their matching frowns succeeded to their both uttering choice curses.

“It is too soon,” Elrohir exclaimed, “Thranduil will break his spirit with his talk of duty and perfection. No wonder Ada was so angry this morning in the library. Certainly Ada –”

“– will not let him return, not so soon. Thranduil will convince him he is weak. Legolas cannot go back now,” Elladan finished.

Usually when his brothers acted such, it amused the Ranger. He had never grown accustomed to their banter, as he enjoyed it so thoroughly. However, at the moment, it only confirmed what Aragorn feared, and so he sighed. The King of Mirkwood would not take his son’s attack well and with his usual lack of composure, Thranduil would mire Legolas with guilt and accusations that under normal circumstances the Prince could endure, but not in his current situation.

A chilly breeze blew across the field, pushing past the Elves and human standing silently, each lost in his thoughts. Aragorn sighed again and then pulled himself into the oak tree. When he had seated himself comfortably, he turned to the twins. “Thranduil has requested my presence in Mirkwood to receive his gratitude.”

He added to himself, _Although I am sure that gratitude is too kind of a word._

Elladan and Elrohir resumed their positions in the great oak tree, their backs to the trunk and their gaze on the tree line in wait for their Wood-Elf friend. “Perhaps you should let Legolas face his father alone.” His eldest brother swung his legs back and forth in agitation. “Thranduil will never accept you,” Elladan stated bluntly, though he glanced sympathetically at his young, human brother.

Elrohir leant out to touch a jade colored bud amongst the many the oak tree sported, its freshness glistening obstinately in the new spring’s cold and bitter sun. “Your presence will only exacerbate Thranduil’s anger. He will be incensed with Greenleaf enough as it is.”

“I know this. But I cannot let him go alone.” Aragorn watched as the twins looked to each other, their faces determined. _What are they plotting, now?_

Concurrently, the Noldor smiled deviously at the Ranger. “Mayhap Ada will ask Legolas if he can have leave to try to convince Thranduil into allowing Legolas time here to recuperate.” Elladan added, “But if not – well, spring is a fine time to visit Mirkwood. Wouldn’t you agree, Elrohir?”

Nodding enthusiastically, his twin laughed. “Indeed, Elladan. King Thranduil would not dare to harm our baby brother while we are there.”

The Ranger could not help but grin at the twins’ stout protectiveness. Although he had fought beside them, traversed Middle Earth, and spent years with the Rangers and on his own, they still perceived his humanity and comparatively fewer years as a good reason to mother him. He shook his head, watching with his brothers for Legolas to appear, but his smiled weakened as he considered Elrohir’s words. _Aye, Thranduil would not be so bold if the twins are with me. What of Legolas? They cannot protect him; nor can I._

“Legolas and Kalin are here,” Elladan said and pointed out the two golden heads that shone in the sunlight through the distant, bare trees. One Elf had turned back; even from such a distance, the Ranger could pick out that it was his beautiful lover coming towards them.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _It is better not to feel. There is no pain this way,_ the laegel tried to convince himself, jerking his hand from the scar on his thigh.He pulled his cloak tighter around him, the once well-fitting material hanging loosely over his thinned shoulders. He wanted to be sure that neither the twins nor Ranger would notice his blood-soaked leggings. _I should not have upset Kalin by being so brusque. He will only worry. Why must I trouble everyone?_ Legolas walked slowly across the long field, biding his time before he had to face Aragorn’s anxiety at his parting. He knew Estel would have told the twins by now, had they not known already. _They will not understand, as Estel does not._ Lancing pain shot through his leg but his step did not falter. _If they knew they would think me crazy,_ the laegel thought, trying in vain to ignore the insidious voice emanating from his wounded thigh.

 _You_ are _crazy,_ it told him, insisting, _which is why you trouble all those around you. Your father is right. You are pathetic and stupid for believing anyone could care for you after how you have allowed yourself to be defiled._

The Prince’s fingers twitched in longing. The ache in his marred flesh begged to be torn asunder and Legolas could barely restrain himself from soothing the ache with self-induced pain. What was once a way to remind himself that he had lived through the past and a means to quell the memories of the torture he suffered at the merchants’ hands was quickly becoming his only means of escape from the present and future; he moaned with an almost sexual anticipation that he could not stifle in desire to rend the mar. Through the scar he could feel, he could flee the deadness. But the relief came at a high price. The disconnection relieved his emotional and corporeal soporific stupor, but when he mangled his skin, the respite was bittersweet. Each malicious caress calmed him of the emotional turmoil that wreaked mayhem on his tired mind and quieted the rancorous blame with which his own, scarred flesh accosted him in its malevolent spirit.

Looking out to the oak tree in which the twins and Ranger sat, he decided, _I am tired of their over protection,_ to which the devious disfigurement reminded him, _They coddle you because you are weak._ _You are nothing._

He was weary of conflict. In an attempt to stay the treacherous undermining of the brand's hold on him, Legolas tried to remember how he had spent his morning with Aragorn, and for a few short moments, the mere memory of the Ranger’s touch allayed his desire to dig at the scar. Legolas could feel Estel’s soothing hands and the pleasure they wrought, the intimacy he and his lover had shared. The moments were too short, however, and Legolas’ sweet memories turned sour, curdled under the scorching reminder of Thranduil’s interpretation of the events of his rape and Estel’s part in it.

 _I cannot tell Ada of the first time in Lake-town. I need no more shame._ Slipping his fingers across the bloodied fabric of his leggings, the laegel pressed the opened wound, the pain washing over him in waves of release, a respite from the torpidity that crept over him, under his skin, and through his meager flesh. The numbness had leached away his will and soaked his being to his exhausted bones, and the pain from his self-inflicted torture was better than not feeling at all, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise – especially as it ceased the scar’s turbulent influence on his already scattered thoughts. _I believed this had passed. Why can I not be well?_

Elrohir’s words from two days before came to him; Legolas knew the Noldo to be right. _I am pushing the fear away. I need to confront it._ The warm afternoon sun did not awaken the Wood-Elf’s unfeeling form. He kicked carelessly a burgeoning flower that lay in his path and then was immediately contrite at his childishness. _I will go to Mirkwood. I will placate father, even if it means facing Kane._ Without realizing it, the Prince began to walk slower, such that he barely shuffled towards the twins and Ranger. _I fear not only the past, but the present and the future, also._

 _You are weak, Legolas._ He dug his fingers into the already torn cloth, scraping with his fingernails along the middle of the scar. It wasn’t enough. He could still feel its sway on him and the numbness did not abate. _I am not weak. I will go to Mirkwood._ His assertion sounded false to him. Bearing down on his prodding digits, the Prince pushed his fingers farther into his thigh, feeling the flesh open into the muscle, until he could feel, until the acidulous voice stopped taunting him with doubts.

“Greenleaf?”

He looked up, suddenly aware that he had stopped walking before he had reached the oak tree. Aragorn and the twins were sprinting towards him, concern speeding their progress.

“I am fine, Estel, only distracted,” the laegel claimed, staving off the Ranger’s worry with a reassuring smile that all knew to be artificial.

“What news did Kalin bring?” Elladan and Elrohir came to stand on either side of the laegel as though to catch Legolas should he fall.

_I do not wish them to know. They would only insist on coming with me if they knew that I was to face Kane. But of course, they likely know enough already and will insist anyway._

The Wood-Elf’s smile faded and he looked idly around him, lost. He wiped his bloodied fingers furtively on the inside of his cloak, never removing his sullied hands from underneath it. “Ada is angry, of course. That is all. I will leave tomorrow morning at first light for Mirkwood.”

Elrohir and Elladan surprised him by stepping forward, encasing him in an embrace, their long arms wrapping around him and their dark hair spilling over his golden locks as they rested their cheeks on top of his head. “We are sorry, my friend. Please forget our anger. It was not meant for you. We were worried you would fade.”

For a brief moment, Legolas felt at peace in their hold, but the twins pulled away to stand beside him once more, his temporary warmth fled, and the Wood-Elf was once again numb. Under his cloak, he felt the blood run afresh from his injury.

_Do not believe them, Legolas. Your surviving has only caused them grief. Their love for you has only hurt them._

Three pairs of eyes watched him; and yet, the Prince could find nothing to say. As he could not tear at his thigh under their vigilant gaze, he could not quiet the sinister persuasion insinuating itself into his thoughts. _It would have been better had you faded._

“We did not mean to behave as though we were judging your actions, nor is it our place to do so. Please do not be angry. We are sorry.” Elladan looked helplessly to his twin and Estel. Still the Prince said nothing. “Legolas?”

_I am not angry. I feel nothing._

_You are nothing._

“It is only that our mother –” The Noldo paused, overwhelmed by his memories of their Naneth’s departure to the Undying Lands. Legolas wished that he had it within him to comfort Elladan. “She would not endure our company, much less our affection. We feared you would be the same.”

“Naneth would barely suffer Ada’s touch, even to tend her wounds,” Elrohir added, ere walking behind Legolas to his older twin, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We were worried for you, Greenleaf. Please do not be angered with us. We only want what is best for you to be well.”

Absently, the Elf noted that the twins were revisiting their grief, harmed by his very presence.

_You should have faded._

Aragorn gave the Wood-Elf a pleading look, a look that begged him to end the twins’ apology before they were caught in their remembrance, and it was this that loosed Legolas’ tongue, his lips spilling the words he knew were expected of him. Emotionlessly, he assured them, “You are forgiven, my friends, though there is nothing to forgive. I was not irritated with you in the least and I know that you do and will always want what is best for me, as I do for you.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Then all is well,” Elrohir beamed with gratitude before his countenance became serious yet again, his recollection of his and his brothers’ conversation inspiring him to ask, “Greenleaf, can you not postpone leaving for Mirkwood? You have only just arrived in the valley.”

Aragorn watched the laegel’s expressionless face curl into the barest hint of a wry smile, though Legolas’ eyes remained as blank as before. _Something decidedly ill has happened,_ Aragorn determined, _or Kalin had more news that Greenleaf has not told us about yet._

The Wood-Elf shifted the quiver on his back as he walked to the archery range, leaving his lover and the twins behind, though he answered, calling over his shoulder, “Come let us practice. I have need for exercise ere I leave tomorrow morning.”

The retort acknowledged Elrohir’s question indirectly but not to anyone’s satisfaction. However, the three disgruntled friends followed their Silvan companion to the field, standing back from the Wood-Elf when he pulled an arrow from his quiver and let it loose with his back to them. The projectile flew straight, hitting the target’s center perfectly. Several more followed in rapid succession to create a tight ring around the first. Wordlessly, the laegel trotted to the end of the field to retrieve his arrows.

“Kalin’s news must have been undeniably unwelcome,” Elladan conjectured, observing as the golden Prince pulled his arrows free from the target slowly and cautiously so as not to spoil them. Elladan’s assessment echoed the Ranger’s evaluation; the laegel’s dispassion was esoteric, known only to the Noldorin twins, their father, and the Ranger, such that others may not have noticed the Prince’s unordinary demeanor when his behavior seemed normal. Of course, few knew of what had happened to Legolas save for Elrond’s family and the laegel’s sentries. “Which is all the more reason for us to accompany him to Mirkwood, should Ada not convince him to stay here,” Elladan commented after a few more moments of watching the Woodland Prince. “Legolas has friends in Eryn Galen, of course, but none as close as are we, since they see him as their Prince first – except perhaps for Kalin. He has always done what he can to keep his Prince safe and out the line of Thranduil’s fury, when possible.”

The Noldorin twins had known Legolas for almost all of their lives and all of Legolas’ life, since the Wood-Elf was younger than were they. They knew well what the Prince endured in his father’s presence, as did Estel, but they knew more than did the Ranger. The Elvenking was an exacting, condescending, and sometimes violent father, even though he was a much beloved and fair King. Elrohir replied to his twin, “Kalin takes good care of our Greenleaf, but he is no match for Thranduil’s anger. We would be better suited to averting it, since we are not his subjects nor scared of him,” the younger twin said to his elder. They did not speak of Estel’s ability to do this, for the Ranger seemed only to incite the Elf-King’s wrath and thus stood no chance of trying to subvert it.

A frigid gust blew through the grass of the field; the Ranger watched the limbs of the ancient oak tree bend with the gale, its green-budded branches swaying with the onslaught. “Let us not press the matter now.” Aragorn eyed his brothers warily. “Let me talk to him first. If I cannot convince him, then we will speak to Ada.”

With only nods, the twins conceded to their brother’s request and removed their bows from where they hung on the catches made into their quivers. Together the trio joined the laegel in practicing their archery, and while each had excellent marksmanship, Legolas’ natural mastery of the bow drew the attention of several Noldor who had been engaging in swordplay off in the distance. Aragorn stopped his practice when he noted the disengaged but deadly accurate manner in which the Prince drilled, which was what drew the small crowd of rapt spectators. A fount of pride rose within him, even though he had naught to do with the Prince's abilities. _None of them can match him, I am sure of it,_ he thought of the Imladrian warriors who watched.

As though to challenge this thought, one Elf from the crowd came forward. The Ranger was annoyed to see that the Elf was none other than Mithfindl, a staunch bigot against the Wood-Elves – and of Legolas in particular. He had been amongst those whom Aragorn had glared at earlier during breakfast for Mithfindl’s undisguised detestation of the laegel.

“Prince Legolas,” the silver-haired Noldo hailed and grinned widely at the Wood-Elf, who ceased his practice at the call. “You are truly a great archer, though I would wager I might outmatch you. Perhaps you would care to participate in a friendly contest?”

He wanted to witness Legolas outclass the impetuous Noldo, but Aragorn knew Mithfindl to be a disgraceful loser, and so deflected, “It would be no contest so there is little point in your making the endeavor.”

Elladan and Elrohir snickered in the background. Few in Imladris cared for the cocky Noldo, but as he was the only son of one of Elrond’s esteemed advisors, few dared to express anything but respect for him; that is, apart from the twins, whose feelings towards the conceited Noldo had grown from disinterested dislike to intense abhorrence when Estel came to live in the valley. Mithfindl expressed continually his discordant opinion of Elrond adopting Aragorn into his home. As well, the Noldo had always been quick to denigrate the twins’ brotherly friendship with Legolas and Elrond’s habit of treating the Prince as another son. Like some of the Imladrians, though not the majority thereof, Mithfindl thought the Silvan to be primitive in culture and by and large uncivilized.

Mithfindl smiled superciliously and turned his back to Estel, saying dismissively, “I was addressing the Prince, _human_.” The Noldo added, “But mayhap he is too exhausted to speak for himself after your strenuous morning activities.”

Aragorn looked to Legolas, noting the Prince now stared at Mithfindl, though his gaze was unflustered. _Have rumors about us begun already?_ They had not been quiet this morning. The Last Homely House was large as far as dwellings went, for it harbored more than just Elrond’s family, and the family wing of the house was somewhat secluded, but there were always servants wondering about the halls. _I suppose all it took was one such servant to hear us. If it had been anyone else, none would care, but the son of Thranduil and the fostered son of their Lord – not to mention that we are males and Legolas Elf-kind while I am Mankind…_ the Adan regretted in fragmented aggravation. _I had not thought of whether Legolas would want to keep us secret._

The Prince may have acted as though the taunt did not annoy him but it pestered Estel. He began to Mithfindl, “Or mayhap he would prefer not to bandy words with a self-important, juvenile –”

“Estel. Do not speak for me, please.” Underlying the Prince’s softly spoken admonition was a sentiment the Ranger was glad to see, even if it was directed at him – Legolas was indeed very cross.

The human hushed at once, though he thought, _I would rather have his annoyance than his detachment._

The laegel drew an arrow from his quiver with adroit rapidity, never taking his eyes from Mithfindl as he affixed the projectile to his bow, only to release it immediately. All but the Prince watched with wonder as it arced mildly before embedding in the center of the target amidst the Wood-Elf’s other arrows. To Mithfindl, the laegel serenely replied in response to his challenge, “However, Estel is right, there is no contest. Now, if you will excuse me, I have arrows to fetch and preparations to see completed.”

With that, the Wood-Elf turned on heel away from his mostly open-mouthed audience and walked casually to the target to fetch his arrows. Slipping his bow over his shoulder, the Ranger grinned at the irate Mithfindl before pursuing his lover. He caught up with him, his glee at seeing the Noldo outdone with such little effort causing him almost to gambol alongside Legolas. The easily recognizable, jocular laughter of his brothers followed them in their wake.

Impressed right along with the others, Estel asked, “How did you do that?”

Shrugging his shoulders, the Prince admitted, “I had been standing in the same spot for the last hour making the same shot. It was not that hard to repeat.” His rosy lips curled into the most genuine smile the Ranger had seen since before he had left the Elf alone to speak with his sentry. The human snorted, helping the laegel pull his arrows from the hay, careful not to pull free the arrowhead as it caught in the cloth that encased the straw target. “Estel,” the Prince began in quiet hesitation, taking the arrows from the Ranger’s hands to replace them in his quiver. “Does all of Imladris now know of us?”

 _I hope this does not disturb him._ Although the human was not ashamed in the least of his love for the Prince or of what the two of them had done – since by his thinking he and Legolas were only enjoying each other’s bodies, as lovers were wont to do – a twinge of anxiety curled inside his belly nonetheless. Eventually, all would find out about the two of them, but perhaps it had come too soon for Legolas. _I feel no regret but does Greenleaf regret it? Is he ashamed of us?_ the human fretted. He did not want to ask the Elf if he was humiliated for he feared the answer. Love between males was not unheard of but not conventional amongst the Elves, who loved and married with the intent to bear children, though that end did not lessen the authenticity of the love between married couples. Without the possibility of children, though, love between males was somewhat abnormal, and often was kept secret or went unrequited. Moreover, not only was Legolas with a male, he had chosen a human, which was even more bothersome to the conservative Imladrians’ thinking, no doubt. Now, it seemed that word of their lovemaking was the topic of gossip – they had already effectuated their love physically and such acts of pleasure with one’s lover before marriage were not acceptable at all by most Elves’ thinking. In Eryn Galen, these morals were more relaxed, which was one of the reasons that many of the Noldor and Sindar believed Thranduil’s Silvan folk to be coarse in culture; in Imladris and other Elvendoms, an Elf might be shunned by his or her family and peers for engaging in intimacy before being bonded.

With all this running through his vexed mind in quick, half-thoughts, the Ranger shook his head and admitted, “I do not know. I did not think any but the twins and Ada were aware of us, but gossip spreads especially quickly when it concerns a son of Elrond and the Prince of Mirkwood. And we were not very quiet this morning. A servant likely heard us,” he told the Elf, repeating his own thoughts from moments ago. “Would you have preferred it to be kept a secret?”

The Elf’s face again became expressionless; even so, Aragorn knew Legolas to speak sincerely. “No, it is well. I had only hoped to explain this to my father before he was confirmed of his suspicions by others.” The sunlight lit the laegel’s fair hair in a fiery shimmer. His blue eyes remained cold.

 _Suspicions? What has Kalin told Legolas?_ The pair ambled unhurriedly from the archery range, not back in the direction of the throng of Elves they had just left, but towards the tree line, back to the Last Homely House. Mud squished under his boots and the dry grass crackled as they strode through it under the afternoon sun, but the Ranger noticed neither, as his thoughts dominated his attention. _How much does Thranduil think he knows? I wonder what vile theory he has for making what happened out to be Legolas’ fault._

Unable to maintain his silence any longer, the Ranger halted his lover with a hand to the elbow to question him about his conference with Kalin. He was surprised when Legolas flinched at the contact. “Greenleaf? What is it?”

The Wood-Elf stepped back from the Ranger and closed quickly the folds of his long cloak when they blew open in the breeze, but not before Aragorn saw a glimpse of the bloodied cloth over the Prince’s thigh.

“Ai Valar. What have you done?” he queried in unhidden aggravation.

 _He has kept his back to me or his cloak tied this whole time to hide this._ Again, he tried to approach the Elf, frantic to view what damage the Wood-Elf had inflicted upon himself. Stumbling backwards to evade the Ranger's touch, Legolas would have fallen had not Aragorn seized his arm, pulling him upright – this contact was desperately avoided, as well, and his lover yanked his arm from the Ranger’s hand.

His annoyance growing in tandem with his confusion, Estel asked, “Legolas? What is the matter with you? Let me see.”

With such horror and confusion did the laegel look to him that Aragorn forgot his irritated worry and again leapt forward to engulf the fraught Elf within his arms with the intent to comfort him, but Legolas once more recoiled by dodging to the side. _What is this? Why would he avoid me?_

The bewilderment and alarm fled the Wood-Elf’s face, leaving only the aloof, unknown forgery of Legolas to stare at him vacantly. “Excuse me, Estel. I need to see that my sentries are quartered and make arrangements for my departure.”

“Please,” the Ranger pled, stepping forward only to have the Prince step backwards again.

_What has happened? Why does he fear me?_

The laegel only bowed his head slightly, his needless formality irking the human. Unable to hide his exasperation, he scowled as he reminded the Elf, “You promised. You told me you would not hide from me; and yet, you pull away even now.”

Aragorn regretted his words instantly, for their effect was a look of heart wrenching anguish on the fair face of his beloved ere the Silvan’s stoicism returned. Not answering, the Prince walked quickly away – not towards the house to see to his sentries or preparations, as he’d claimed was his purpose, but to the dense forest surrounding them. The Adan did not trail the laegel, though he much desired to do so.

 _How quickly he has reverted to his fearful disconnection._ With a heavy heart and despite his worry at the condition of Legolas’ bleeding wound, the Ranger made his way back to his brothers at the archery range. _If they do not know what to do, Ada certainly will._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_What is wrong with me?_ He waded through the thick underbrush of the forest, the pricks of the thorny briars to his clothing registering only vaguely in his addled mind. Legolas knew he had frightened Aragorn, that the human had been as confused as he was at his eschewal of the man’s loving touch. _He has done me no wrong but I have hurt him again._ Without thought, the laegel bounded into the nearest tree with the grace of the Silvan and leapt from limb to limb until he came upon a clearing where the sun shone upon the dell of new grass and wildflowers, which were just beginning to rise from the hard, wintry earth. _It is not Estel’s touch that is tainted – I am the tainted one._

The Ranger’s hands had returned Legolas from his benumbed state. He had returned only to the dread of going to Mirkwood, the horror of meeting his Ada’s demands to make reparations to Kane, and the overwhelming torment of the crippling voice emanating from his wounded soul, a voice manifested in his scarred thigh. _It is better not to feel, not when I all I feel is fear and anguish._ The fleeting pleasure he had found in his lover’s hands had been replaced with the reality of his present circumstances – this he felt, not the comfort the man offered.

_You are weak. You are mad. You push Estel away and away he will remain._

He had expected the Ranger to follow him while secretly hoping Aragorn would not so that he could reflect alone. Reclining on a thick branch, the Wood-Elf tried to lose himself in the tranquil ambience of nature around him. The call of the birds met his unhearing ears, the sun beat down on his unfeeling face, and the cool branch beneath and behind him gave the Wood-Elf no peace. As he realized that in his state he could not even enjoy nature, Legolas drew his knees to his chest to rest his head on them with his arms wrapped tightly around his shins.

_Not even Arda will heal you._

Closing his eyes tightly, the Prince tried to recall memories of times long before his violation in Lake-town, for as bitter as those times had often been – especially before he had met Aragorn – they had never compelled him to question himself, to doubt his worth so thoroughly.

And therein laid the conundrum. The cessation of the demeaning, hateful voice that taunted him with half-truths could only be squelched by the resurgence of his perceptivity, by his rending the source of the voice – his maltreated, marred flesh. However, to do so resurrected the actuality of not only what he had already endured, but also what he would undergo upon his return to Mirkwood. The apprehension he felt engulfed him in abject terror that he could not bear. The Ranger’s touch – once a gentle reminder of the promise he had made to live, if only for Aragorn – had become another convocation of the pusillanimity that Legolas was trying hard to stifle so that he could forever extirpate the odious voice and by going to Mirkwood and facing his fear, prove wrong its conclusions of his worthlessness and weakness.

 _I cannot even hear the song of the forest._ He longed to dig at the scar, to revert to feeling if only for a moment’s respite from the abominable utterances it spewed forth, and to fill his Silvan soul with the symphony of the majestic forest. _It is better not to feel,_ he again tried to convince himself, toiling to withdraw from his thoughts and the repulsive opinion of the malignant essence inhabiting his thigh. So introverted did he become that he felt his world a penumbra of what it had been and himself only a shade amongst the many cast by Anor. He did not notice the presence of another climbing into the tree beside him, when normally he ought to have sensed another’s arrival.

“Tell me, Prince. Why have you chosen to bed a mortal? Have you no shame?”

Startled by the sudden, clarion sound of another sentient being beside him, Legolas reached reflexively for his long knife only to remember again that it had been lost in Mirkwood during his second encounter with the merchants. He dropped his empty hand and turned to the speaker, finding that Mithfindl sat beside him on the same branch, a snide and wicked smile on his face.

_Valar, what does he want? Can I find no quiet?_

Not wishing to start an altercation with the son of one of his Minyatar’s advisors, the Wood-Elf avoided the Noldo’s statement neatly by replying, “I seek solitude. Pardon me, please.”

Legolas swung his legs over the branch to drop smartly to the forest floor so that he could find another place for contemplation. His visitor was not so easily dissuaded; the Noldorin warrior fell elegantly to the ground in front of the laegel. The abeyant Prince had not the energy or the will to push Mithfindl away when the Noldo seized him by the front of his cloak. For years beyond recall, the laegel had listened to this particular Noldo’s insults and snide remarks – so much so that Legolas was generally impervious to Mithfindl’s unconcealed loathing for him. While Mithfindl seemed to hate the Prince, the laegel had always felt that the Noldo was drawn to him for some reason, as if he yearned for a taste of Legolas’ position and power in the Greenwood but despised the Prince all the same.

“You seek nothing but to fornicate with that detestable human – or so it is said in the halls of Imladris.” The Noldo’s false smile became a deriding sneer. By his hold of the Silvan’s cloak, Mithfindl flung the subdued Wood-Elf to the wet ground, where Legolas caught himself with his hands before he hit the forest floor. He did not rise immediately but remained sitting in absent shock, for the Noldo had never been violent before. Mithfindl stood over him as he ridiculed, “Your aim with the bow is much better than that of your choice in bedfellows, _Prince._ What does King Thranduil say about you whoring yourself to the human?”

The words struck deeper than the Noldo could have intended, resonating with truths the malevolent essence within him had only just supplied, and he knew what his father would say to his choice of lovers. Legolas withdrew further into himself, seeking not only to flee Mithfindl’s hateful words but the obvious lust in the Elf’s countenance. The twins had once told the laegel that it was rumored that Mithfindl preferred males but the Prince had never given it thought because he had never cared; just from the look upon the Noldo’s face now, Legolas could see that the rumor was true. He had the sudden insight as to why Mithfindl seemed to hate him so much – the Noldo thought Legolas beneath him but he quite literally wanted Legolas beneath him, as well. Unable to reconcile his hate for the Prince with his desire for him, Mithfindl now seemed encouraged by Legolas’ strange acceptance of his actions. He was spurred further by the rumors that the laegel had taken Estel as a lover, which led Mithfindl to think that he might sate his desire for the Wood-Elf, being that since the Wood-Elf would fornicate with humans, in Mithfindl’s thinking, Legolas was then shameless enough to be willing to allow Mithfindl the same pleasure.  

When the silver-haired Imladrian dropped down to straddle Legolas’ legs, pushing the laegel backwards until he was supine upon the ground, the Prince did not struggle overmuch, for the Noldo’s touch inspired no sensation with him. It was only out of habit that he at all tried to be free of the Elf’s domineering position.

“Will you spread your legs for anyone or does your preference extend only to mortals?” Leaning forward, grinding his rear painfully, unknowingly against the torn flesh on the Wood-Elf’s thigh, Mithfindl bent to place his face mere inches from Legolas’ outwardly calm visage. “You should have accepted my challenge. I would have bested you. But perhaps I can best you still.”

With detached, accommodating reception, a puzzled Legolas spoke nothing but absorbed the Elf’s undeserved and unprovoked hate, desiring hazily for Mithfindl to repeat the twist of his hips, to manipulate the vile scar with purifying pain once more.

_Anything to end this nothingness._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His concern had turned to all out alarm, though he did not know the reason why. _Legolas is well for the moment,_ he tried to console himself. Aragorn ran up the main stairs to the uppermost floor, where his father’s study laid above the family wing of the house. He was heedless of the odd, inquiring looks of the Elves he passed. The ornate door leading to the spacious study in which his father could most often be found was only just ahead when a voice called to him, “Estel!”

Mid-stride he stopped at the recognizable voice, his momentum nearly throwing him forward. He pulled his impetus at the last moment and instead turned to the source of the hail. Lord Elrond called to him from the direction in the long, airy hallway down which he had just run. The Peredhel had been speaking with two of his advisors in a council room near the stairwell and having just left the room, had seen the Ranger’s hasty flight. “I must speak with you. Legolas –”

“Estel.” The silencing tone of the Elven Lord’s voice quieted the Ranger’s words. One dark eyebrow rose. “Let us speak privately.”

Despite his inexplicable need for urgency, Aragorn waited patiently for his father to say farewell to his advisors and then walk to him. He followed the elder the rest of the way to his study in pensive silence.

When Elf and human were within, Aragorn did not wait for his father to seat himself at his desk, nor did he offer any introduction to his worried grievance. “Ada, King Thranduil has requested Legolas to return to Mirkwood. He cannot go yet. He is not well.” The Elven Lord did not acknowledge his son’s words, but gathered a stack of books and scrolls within his arms and walked to the many shelves in his personal library. An exasperated Ranger followed close behind. “He recoiled from me, as though he were afraid. Just this morning though…” he trailed off, suddenly aware he was about to tell his father of his intimate encounter with the Prince.

Elrond did not seem to notice. He replaced the books in an order that no one else had ever understood, seating the invaluable tomes along the long shelves randomly, it seemed, and pulling others, handing them to the confused Ranger until Aragorn’s arms were full.

“Take these to my desk, please.”

He did as he was asked, his father’s request exacerbating his imperative need for assurance that Legolas would be well, but his obligation to follow the demand coming automatically. As soon as the tomes were carefully placed on his father’s large desk, Aragorn found Elrond sitting amongst an ostensibly disorganized pile of leather bound books on healing. “Ada.” The Peredhel continued his task. “Are you even listening to me?” His irritated tone evinced a bemused glare from Elrond, who diverted the conversation again, his countenance becoming suddenly grave.

“Celebrian would not often allow either I or the twins to be near her, much less her servants or even Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn. None could comfort her.” His eyes unfocused in recollection, the Lord of Imladris shelved another scroll absently ere he centered on his human son, his forlorn gaze a reminder to the human that his father had undergone much the same as he, though much worse in degree, for Celebrian had never recovered. “Do not be so judgmental of Legolas’ demeanor, Estel. Do not expect too much from him.”

“Ada, you do not understand.” The Ranger shook his head, cognizant that he did not know what ailed Legolas at the moment and would thus hardly be able to explain the Prince’s condition to his father. “It is the scar. I do not understand it myself but he still tears at it. He is not well enough to go back to Mirkwood. King Thranduil will destroy him.”

_Valar, I hope Legolas is not angry that I am telling Ada these things._

Lord Elrond had replaced the last of the scrolls he had been sorting and had just stood to brush the dust from his robes when a knock at the door stole both their attention.

“That will be Kalin,” the Imladrian ruler stated, leaving a frustrated Ranger to trail behind him. He watched his father open the door and welcome the Mirkwood sentry heartily. “Come, Kalin. About what did you wish to speak with me?” Kalin glanced warily at Estel, obviously unsure whether he should speak his concerns in front of the Ranger, but took the seat the Peredhel offered him. The Noldorin Lord sat behind his desk, pushing aside the stack of books Aragorn had only just placed there.

_I am glad Kalin is here. Perhaps he can tell me what Thranduil has said and what happened that caused Legolas to mistreat his wound again._

“My Lord, I was hoping to speak to you of the Prince.” Casting his cautious gaze again at Estel, who had seated himself on the edge of his father’s desk, the sentry hesitated only briefly before he explained, “This morning, when I spoke to Legolas, he seemed most unwell. I know he has suffered much and that his health is not as it should be, but…” Unconsciously, Kalin began to wring his hands. “I should not be so bold, my Lord, but Prince Legolas is not only a charge – he is a friend I hold dear and I would not see him harmed any further. I have no one else to whom to speak to of him save for you. He thinks of you as a father, I know.”

Again, the sentinel stopped, his ears burning with shame, though for what Aragorn could not fathom, until the sentry admitted what Estel had only just started to say to his father. “King Thranduil blames Legolas for the attack in the woods. He does not believe the men to have abused the Prince against his will,” the sentry elucidated, turning a remorseful face to the Ranger, “He believes you to have killed the merchants without cause. That Legolas had been used by them, but that it was his volition, though by what logic he arrived at this conclusion he saves for the Prince alone. He had hinted to me when I received my orders that Legolas desired their treatment.”

As he spoke, Kalin became obviously incensed, for his words were spoken with a starkness that he would not normally use when speaking of his King. Neither Elven Lord nor Ranger stopped Kalin's tirade, for both desired to know the extent of Thranduil’s ire, and both feared that should they speak, Kalin’s reticence would emerge. Addressing Estel, the sentry continued, “He believes that you have swayed the Prince into the ways of men, and that he is your lover – for this he blames you, also.” Kalin sat back in his chair, looking anxiously and somewhat suspiciously at the Ranger. “The Prince did not tell me of what has happened, nor do I desire to ask, except that I would like some assurance that my King’s beliefs are false,” the sentry pled.

 _I expected his disavowal of Legolas’ strength and abilities as a warrior but not this._ Aragorn was a bit overwhelmed to hear all of this.

Aragorn tried to give the sentry the assurance that he was asking for, saying, “King Thranduil will believe as he wishes, but know this, Kalin. Legolas did not desire his maltreatment from the merchants. I slew them with pleasure for the trespasses they committed against Legolas, giving them a much kinder end than they deserved.”

So affronted did the sentry appear that the Ranger wondered what he had said to incite Kalin’s wrath. “No, this I know,” he obstreperously interjected. “Never would I believe Legolas to have desired such treatment. The Prince has a kind and loving faer; I have known this since he was a mere Elfling.”

For the first time since Kalin had begun his tale, Lord Elrond spoke. “Then what, Kalin?”

Sighing, the sentry peered out the open window behind the Elven Lord’s head, as if seeking the shelter of the trees there instead of the confines of the study and his worry. With his unseeing eyes filled with dread, the sentry sighed suppuratively, and then expelled his most toxic fear. “That the Prince and Estel are lovers. Thranduil will kill Legolas should he find this to be true.”


	20. Chapter 20

_You desire this, Legolas._ Mithfindl had not moved from astride his captive, his face was still inches from the Prince’s, and his pleased bemusement to find the Elf beneath him remained submissive impelled his hateful attentions to further heights. The Noldo began to rub his hands along the muscled chest of the Wood-Elf beneath him, chafing the cloth of Legolas’ tunic against his skin. _Will you let him use you as you have let Estel, as you have allowed the merchants to do? You are the whore that your father has claimed you –_

The malignant voice was silenced when Mithfindl nipped experimentally at Legolas’ full lips, drawing blood with the heartless bite, and the action again abrading the Prince’s wounded thigh with the Noldo’s moving body. The dolor was welcomed as respite by the laegel, for though the Noldo’s painful mauling was not pleasant or desired, it suspended the reprehension meandering through him without stimulating his emotional turmoil’s return. He allowed the Elf to continue his ministrations, which Mithfindl did with pleasure, answering his own question. “It would appear that you would spread your legs for any, Princeling. Perhaps your revolting penchant for humans could be changed. Have you ever had an Elf?”

Mithfindl’s rump rubbed Legolas’ aggrieved scar, the motion eliciting a sigh of satisfaction from the Prince, which in turn elicited a wicked smile from the Elf above him.

 _Estel. If only for him, I cannot allow this to continue._ It was not his spiteful scar that spoke to him, but his conscience.

When the Noldo again bit him, this time sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the Wood-Elf’s neck, Legolas’ thought fled him, for the ablutionary smart of the Noldo’s bite left the Prince bereft of any concern save for the duplication of so pleasurable an impression, a sensation that had no sensation, but was the lack of any feeling, both corporeal and emotional. With the tip of his tongue, Mithfindl laved the Prince’s newly acquired mark, noticeably believing the Wood-Elf to be enjoying his subjugation, while continuing to massage Legolas’ chest, his touch becoming rougher.

His quiver dug painfully into his back and the pressure of the Elf above him ground his body into the forest floor. He recognized the pain and welcomed it, but it was not enough. Again, the voice called to him, _He is right to label you revolting. You lay here writhing under his detestable touch._ Mithfindl pushed the fabric of the laegel’s tunic up to expose Legolas' fair skin to the afternoon sun.

Brutally holding the Prince’s face in a bruising grip, the Noldo pillaged Legolas’ lips in a punishing mockery of a kiss, his tongue pushing past the Elf’s teeth to delve deep into his mouth. The laegel did not dissuade his assailer but consented silently to Mithfindl’s abuse.

_You are no Prince. You are nothing._

When the Noldo had slaked his desire to taste the Wood-Elf, he moved his attentions to Legolas’ chest, taking one nipple between his teeth, closing them cruelly around the sensitive bud of flesh, while twisting the other between his fingers. His ambiguous moans of agitation only encouraged Mithfindl. For a few more brief moments, the deranged essence within him quieted with the cathartic ache, but all too soon, it began again its persistent articulation of his self-loathing.

_Let him use you. It is of no consequence to anyone, for all know you as a whore. You are naught._

_Stop,_ the laegel argued with the malevolent vociferation. _Leave me be._ Legolas no longer even noticed the Noldo’s actions, which he could not discern anyway, for he withdrew further into himself and was as close to giving way to a grief-death as he had been under the merchants' handling. _Anything to be rid of this,_ he despaired. _Anything to be rid of these foul accusations._ Therefore, he lay on the cold, wet ground, distantly aware that Mithfindl had moved farther down his body to grope his limp, unresponsive sex through his trousers. It did not deter the dark-haired Elf when the Prince did not become aroused, nor did he seem to note yet the bloodstained cloth over the Wood-Elf’s thigh. Legolas could see the mad lust in the Noldo’s eyes, a carnal desire that though he did not share, he permitted be satiated with his willing enslavement to Mithfindl’s base performance.

_You are pitiable. You are soiled. You should have faded._

“You don’t seem overly excited, Princeling,” the Noldo taunted, tapping the fabric over Legolas’ flaccid member.

Unintentionally, Mithfindl placed his weight again on the laegel’s ill-treated leg wound, pressing the torn flesh such that Legolas cried out softly in the impalpable relief the cessation of his dark thoughts incited. The Noldo quickly repositioned himself. Examining the cause of the Wood-Elf’s reaction with an almost contrite appearance, Mithfindl may have even apologized, had not the Prince reverted to his benumbed state. For all Mithfindl knew, the unfighting Wood-Elf truly did desire his attention, as Legolas had not once said otherwise.

Bewildered at the syncretized reaction the Prince gave of both pain and pleasure at the accidental friction to his wound, Mithfindl prodded the ragged flesh tentatively, and then grinned roguishly in understanding when Legolas moaned his pleasure.

“Do you enjoy that? Does the pain arouse you?” Not waiting for an answer, the Noldo repeated his poking, deepening his callous finger’s pressure on the Wood-Elf’s rent flesh, and laughing merrily at the Prince’s pleased whimper. “Aye, it does,” the Noldo chuckled, grinding his knee into Legolas’ wound as he promised, “If pain is what you desire, whore, I believe I can oblige.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neither Elven Lord nor Ranger admitted the actuality of the sentry’s worry; Elrond did not because it was not his place while Aragorn remained silent for much the same reason. _Valar. If this is what Kalin has told Legolas, it is no wonder Greenleaf was as upset as he was._

Although not truly surprised by the King’s rejection of his son’s choice in lovers, Estel had not expected Thranduil to be suspicious as of yet, and Legolas had more urgent difficulties that needed attending. Remembering his intention of inquiring of the Prince’s aggravated wound, the Ranger sidetracked their conversation, drawing Kalin’s gaze from the gardens outside. “When Legolas met us at the archery field, the wound on his thigh was bleeding. Did you see him bother it?”

“I did, though I tried to stop him.” Shaking his head with puzzlement, the fair-haired soldier explained, “One moment we were speaking – he had asked me of his father’s ire – and the next moment he had fallen to his knees. At first, I did not know what he was doing, for his cloak hid his actions, but when I knelt beside him, I saw that he was digging his fingers through his trousers, tearing at his thigh. He acted as though he could not hear me, as though he were lost in thought. After that, it was as though nothing had happened. It was as if he were...” Kalin trailed off, fumbling to find the word to describe his Prince’s horrifying demeanor.

Reminded of what Legolas had told him when he had tried to bathe in the forest, Aragorn whispered, “Numb. He acted as though he were numb.”

When the sentry nodded, Aragorn’s worry had trebled. _He has not improved. Whatever peace he felt was ephemeral._

He shifted his position on his father’s desk, turning to face the Elven Lord as he asked, “And it was when you told him of the King’s suspicions that the Prince and I were lovers that he reacted thusly?”

_Please do not let it be so. I cannot have harmed him further, Eru, please._

The sentry’s answer was much more ruinous.

“No.” Kalin’s brow knitted and he began again to wring his hands in agitation. “I had told Legolas that the King has ordered me to make certain his return, even if force is required – assuming we found the Prince alive here in the valley.” With a shamed face did the sentry say this and then added, “After this, when I told him that King Thranduil has promised reparations to be made for the merchants’ deaths, did the Prince react. The King has dictated that the employer of the humans, a shopkeeper named Kane, will receive whatever restitution he seeks from Prince Legolas.”

 _Kane. He is to make reparations to his tormenter._ The Ranger forgot all around him, so focused was he upon that single name.

“Estel.”

 _Still he wishes to return to Mirkwood. What is he thinking?_ The Ranger was motionless, for he was sickened at the sentry’s virulent words. He paid no mind to the increasingly firm prompting of the Elven Lord seated behind the desk on which he sat. _Did he not plan to tell me of this? Did he expect to return to Mirkwood, meet Thranduil’s mad demands, and suffer no consequences?_

“Estel.”

 _Yet, I suppose it does not matter. Kalin is to take him whether he desires to go or not. I will not let him go alone._ Lord Elrond tired of his son’s unintended rebuff and rose from his seat to stand in front of the Ranger.

“Estel. Kane is the third merchant, is he not, from whom Legolas tried to purchase pipe-weed in Lake-town?”

The recondite question jostled the preoccupied human from his musing. “Pipe-weed?” Over his father’s shoulder, the Ranger noted the sentry was as confused as he was, for Kalin apparently did not know of the first incident. _As Thranduil must not. Not that I am sure his mind would be changed should he know_.

“Yes, pipe-weed. Legolas told me he went to Lake-town to purchase pipe-weed for you. It was there he met Kane, was it not?”

 _Pipe-weed for me?_ He appreciated his father’s secrecy of Legolas’ first encounter with the vile merchants; however, Estel did not deem it necessary. _I am not certain Legolas would have Kalin know of this attack, or his father, but they will know, for I will not allow this to happen._

Although the mention of pipe-weed still confused him, he acknowledged, sure that Kalin, and eventually Thranduil, would need to be told of the Prince’s previous torture, “Kane was the shopkeeper who instigated Legolas’ first assault.”

“First assault?” Kalin vaulted to his feet, nearly knocking the priceless chair he had been seated in to the ground as he joined the Elven Lord in standing before Aragorn. The sentry asked in a rapid fire of questions, “Of what do you speak? The Prince was attacked before the time in the forest? The human, Kane, had something to do with this?”

Ignoring his father’s mordant glare – an attempt, the Ranger was sure, to shut him up – Estel admitted, “Legolas endured Kane and his wretched employees’ vile manipulation in Lake-town, weeks before I came to Mirkwood. He kept it secret from all. He would have concealed it from me, also, had I not been there for their repeat performance. Fate’s cruelty had them meet us in the woods along one of the merchants’ paths, though Kane was not with them.”

Silence met this confession ere the usually demure Kalin seethed, “The King must be told. Surely he will change his edict upon hearing the shopkeeper’s part in the Prince’s torment.” Kalin’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides; his fair face bloomed crimson with rage. “The sentries were not to let the Prince roam Lake-town alone. I gave the orders myself. I will have both their heads.”

“The Prince dissuaded them, Kalin,” the Elven Lord consoled. Elrond glided back to the plush chair behind his desk. “Besides, the damage has been done. We must now see to Legolas’ recovery, which, it would seem from both your perceptions of his welfare, is not progressing as well as Greenleaf suggested, although we should not expect any less.” Pulling to him the stack of books that he had asked Aragorn to place on his desk, Lord Elrond queried while he flipped through the topmost tome, “Where is Legolas? I should like to speak to him and I would prefer it if the twins were here with us, also.”

_Legolas will not fancy this upcoming inquisition._

“He is in the woods, but where I do not know.” The imbroglio of having to explain to his father of the Prince’s reaction to his touch while before the condemning and worried sentry made Aragorn shift uneasily on the edge of the desk. That the guard stood afore him, raging and murderous, did not loosen the Ranger’s tongue.

_He will find out regardless. It is better he know now so that we may help Legolas._

Still, the Ranger evaded exposing his and the Prince’s affair, saying to his father, “I had noted his bleeding and tried to tend it, but Legolas avoided me, as though my touch pained him, whereas this morning he was well. I first sought the twins at the archery range so that they could find Legolas while I found you. When they find Greenleaf, they will bring him here.”

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“How many other humans have you had, Princeling?” The permissive Silvan felt no disgrace when the Noldo began to unlace his leggings, the dark-haired Elf’s knee never ceasing its milling of the Prince's broken flesh.

_Too many. More than the one I have desired._

His thoughts, while not inspired by his hateful scar, berated him regardless. Mithfindl was not kind as his groping hand tore at Legolas’ chest, lacerating his white skin with fingernail scratches, while the other slid within the Prince’s trousers to abuse his shaft. In short, forceful tugs did the Noldo stimulate the enthralled Wood-Elf, who moaned unwillingly in supplication. “I’ve never known one so satisfied with pain. Did the human teach you this diversion?”

_They taught you well, harlot._

Legolas could not perceive any pleasure the hideous Elf’s hands wrought; he felt only the acute pain, the molten ache that surpassed the acidulous, smoldering estrangement of his marred flesh, and therefore exculpated him from its despicable vociferation. The pain was not enough. He was not entirely unaware of what was occurring. The Prince knew he was betraying Aragorn with his shameless participation; he knew he was allowing the Noldo to use him, to hurt him; and he knew he needed this treatment and he deserved it, regardless of his betrayal.

_Estel merits better than me._

“I can see now why you would choose that disgusting human as your lover, whore,” the Noldo ridiculed. Mithfindl grazed the Wood-Elf’s erection with his fingernails, scraping the sensitive flesh maliciously. “You are as base as he and almost as disgusting.” Licking the Prince’s bleeding lip, the Noldo reiterated, “Almost. Although none could be as repulsive as that one.”

While nothing else permeated his withdrawal, the jibes at his lover’s character penetrated the unfeeling haze that had descended upon the Wood-Elf. _Estel is not repulsive; it is I who am repulsive._ For the first time since Mithfindl had initiated the freakish game Legolas had surrendered to, the Prince thought clearly and his diminished sentience surged concomitantly to the flight of his corporeal numbness. He felt plainly the repugnant, lecherous mauling the Noldo was inflicting, and his bile rose at what he was willing to endure to be rid of the maleficent interjections superseding his better sense. _I cannot do this. I would only harm Estel yet again. I am weak to submit to this torture once more._

“You disgust me, Mithfindl, not Estel,” the Woodland Prince hissed, bucking against the weight of the Noldo atop him. He scooted along the ground in an attempt to remove himself from the hateful attentions that Mithfindl had not ceased to bestow, despite the Prince’s sudden change of mind. It was not a human he struggled against, but an Elf, and so his efforts were foiled by the equivalent strength of his attacker. Mithfindl seized Legolas by the arms to hold him still.

“I will best you, Princeling. I know you desire this. Your body gives you away.” Grinding his knee pitilessly into the indecisive Silvan’s wound, he extracted a pained, contented whimper from Legolas as the Noldo demanded, “You want this.”

_I need this. I want this._

“No. Enough. I do not want this,” Legolas lied. Again, he tried to unseat the Noldo but to no avail. His shattered resolution wavered as his vigor waned.

_Please do not do this._

Mithfindl only sneered down at him while his kneading of the Prince’s wound became more violent. “Do not speak falsely. I will –”

“You will release the Prince, unless you would prefer I explain to your father how I was forced to cleave your idiot head from your neck.”

_Glorfindel._


	21. Chapter 21

Mithfindl released his hold on Legolas quickly and scrambled to stand, his eyes wide in fearful recognition of the voice that threatened him. He did not move fast enough for the commander. Legolas could not see the renowned warrior until Mithfindl was hauled unexpectedly from atop him, his arms threshing the air as the elder seized the back of the young Noldo's tunic to throw him roughly across the way and to the ground.

Glorfindel fumed as he strode to the splayed, prone Noldo, “You move too slowly. Perhaps you believe my warning to be hollow?” The silver-haired Elf shook his head violently and he began to stammer. In a motion too quick for the Wood-Elf to see, the prestigious warrior drew his broadsword from its sheath. Its polished blade was but a deadly flash as it swung through the air and its flight stopped just short of the terrified Mithfindl’s neck. “Is this how the guests of your Lord are treated?”

Legolas rolled to his side, away from the spectacle of the Imladrian commander menacing Mithfindl. The ache of what he knew would be a deep bruise from his quiver jutting into his back and the raw agony from his maltreated flesh wound did not measure up to the humiliation of having to be saved, yet again, from his own weakness. As he pulled himself into standing, he could hear the Noldo begin his sadly comical stuttering for a second time, as Mithfindl’s alarm of having Glorfindel’s blade at his throat and the peculiarity of the circumstances rendered his explanation somewhat incoherent. “He – he desired it, my Lord. I did nothing – I did nothing to hurt him but what he wanted.”

_He does not lie._

Mithfindl’s fondling had unloosed the straps of Legolas’ quiver; the Wood-Elf picked it from the wet ground to inspect the condition of his arrows. “He tells the truth and no harm is done, my Lord Glorfindel.” The fair, brawny commander did not remove his blade but looked to the laegel, his unfathomable gaze lingering on the red patch over the Prince’s thigh.

_Please do not ask._

Bending to retrieve his bow, the Elf affected an insouciant demeanor in hopes of allaying the warrior’s questions. To Legolas’ relief, Glorfindel nodded and seemed unruffled at the odd account given to him.

“I will not pretend to understand what depraved amusement you were engaging in, but if the Prince attests to your explanation, then you have my apologies, Mithfindl. Go back to your practice.” The elder sounded less than pleased or apologetic. Slipping his broadsword expertly back within its place at his side, Glorfindel was unreadable; Legolas wondered what speculation the warrior would espouse.

No one would hear of this, he was sure, save for Elrond, perhaps, for the elder warrior was not prone to rumor or falsehood. What concerned the Wood-Elf the most was the loss of esteem he had just visited upon himself by his admission of his participation in Mithfindl’s vindictive game.

The silver-haired Noldo ran his hand across his throat and then looked at his palm for traces of blood. None was to be found, for Glorfindel’s hold of his blade, as always, had been steady.

“Prince Legolas, Lords Elladan and Elrohir are searching for you and enlisted my aid in finding you,” the elder commented, walking away from Mithfindl to stand in front of Legolas without aiding Mithfindl up from the ground or otherwise acknowledging the Noldo again. “They wish for you to accompany them to Lord Elrond’s study, who is awaiting your arrival.”

 _Ai Valar. I would not see him now._ But he could not turn down Elrond; and so, he wiped his bloodied lip on the sleeve of his tunic and tied his cloak snugly around him. _No doubt, Estel has instigated this meeting._ Sparing a glance at Mithfindl, the Prince glimpsed the outright terror in the Noldo’s eyes under the challenging, smirking mask the Elf wore. The Noldorin warrior was quick to make his getaway once hearing that the twin Lords of Imladris were also searching for Legolas; moreover, he likely feared that soon Elrond would know of what had just occurred. _He believes I would tell Elrond. I would tell no one, though I cannot say the same for Glorfindel._

“Prince Legolas?” the commander prompted to gain the younger Elf’s attention.

The elder’s suspicion was tangible. Glorfindel had chosen to accept Legolas’ explanation out of respect for the Prince and not out of belief of him. The laegel strapped his quiver to his back and looped his bow in its hold, asking, “Where are the twins, my Lord?”

Not bothering to answer, the warrior whistled loudly. He was immediately answered by two similar calls from different positions in the surrounding forest. Glorfindel’s bottomless, algid blue eyes did not leave the discomfited Prince’s face until the faint sound of trampling, Elven feet met their ears; both fair Elves turned to the sound. Moments later, Elladan barreled through the underbrush with Elrohir arriving shortly thereafter from the opposite direction.

“Greenleaf! We have been looking everywhere for you,” Elladan exclaimed, smiling as he and his brother walked to the Prince and warrior. “Leave it to Glorfindel to find you first, though, he...” The twin’s tone became suddenly anxious when he saw the blood on Legolas' face and felt the tension between the commander and laegel. “What happened?”

“It is nothing, Elladan. Do not worry.” He prayed Glorfindel would not counter his dishonesty and that the warrior had believed his disgusting desire for Mithfindl’s handling, despite the cost to his character.

_I would rather him believe me perverted than weak. And thank the Valar the twins did not find me and that they did not see Mithfindl leave._

“Nothing? Your lip is bleeding, Greenleaf.” Elrohir made as though to touch the small injury.

The Prince drew away, smiling evasively. “Come now. Lord Glorfindel has informed me that your father expects us. Let him mother this little wound. I would not have it treated twice, or thrice, should Estel feel the need to see to it, also.” His feigned humor must have convinced the twins, for they laughed, the genuine chime of their amusement ringing through the still forest.

“Indeed, Ada will see to you.” Elrohir’s words sounded ominous to the Prince. He pulled his cloak, which was wet from his lying on the ground, tighter around him. The twins smiled at their mentor and friend. “Thank you for finding our errant brother.”

Glorfindel’s calculating gaze bored through Legolas and though no emotion showed on his ageless visage, the Prince knew the commander to be ruminating on what he had come across in the clearing and how he should he react to it. To the laegel’s relief, Glorfindel nodded curtly, saying, “You are welcome, young ones. Excuse me, if you will. I’ve soldiers who need training.” Bowing slightly, the reticent warrior left the clearing, his exit alleviating the Wood-Elf’s apprehension of his weakness and Mithfindl’s assault becoming known.

Elladan instructed as he grabbed the Wood-Elf’s arm and tugged him towards the Last Homely House, “Let us go. Estel will be pacing the floor.”

He did not bother to question why he was being called to this conference, for the mention of his lover’s name confirmed his belief that after his avoidance of the Ranger’s kind hand, Aragorn had sought his father for counsel. The trio walked in a silence alien to their usual banter. The sensation of the torn muscles of his thigh crawled over Legolas, its ache a creeping cold that kept the hideous voice mercifully numbed.

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His father’s outward lack of concern had worn through the Ranger’s already frayed nerves. Elrond flipped through tomes that Estel only now truly bothered to take note of, making him somewhat ashamed of his earlier irritation at his father, for the Elven Lord was researching Legolas’ malady. Kalin had become entirely still, not unlike Legolas when he was angered. Aragorn paused in his circuit of the room and found himself wondering if it was a trait of all Wood-Elves to be so calm when so incensed. Nothing else had been said after his explanation that the Prince was currently being sought by the twins and the three beings waited in tense silence for Elladan and Elrohir to bring Legolas to them.

He restarted his pacing. He had not the patience of the Firstborn and so walked a restless pattern on the beautiful stone tile of the floor. At first, he had distracted himself by counting the swirls in the carefully polished, bedecked stones, but had given up when his mind became clouded with the inane task in addition to his perpetual, unforgiving reflection on his lover. Anxiety further exacerbated his impetuous striding, as he believed something ill had befallen Legolas, and his inactivity in finding out what the ill could be had heightened his misgivings.

When Elrond and Kalin turned towards the entrance, Estel knew someone approached, though he had yet to hear them. Moments later, the door was pushed open.

 _It is the twins,_ he thought, knowing that none else, save for him, Erestor, or Glorfindel, would dare to enter the Elven Lord’s study without knocking.

Indeed, in came the Noldorin brothers with a staid Prince behind them. Immediately, the Ranger noticed the laegel’s bruised and bleeding lip and disheveled clothing. _What more injury has he done himself?_

The thought was not without bitterness. As much as he loved the Wood-Elf, his lover’s desire to harm himself confused Aragorn. If Legolas was surprised to see Estel, Kalin, and Elrond waiting for him and the twins, he did not show it, but bowed needlessly to the Peredhel before moving to stand in front of the Elven noble. “You wished to see me, my Lord?”

“I did, Legolas. Please, sit.”

Aragorn moved to reclaim his perch on his father’s desk to be near to the seated Wood-Elf, to watch what he knew would be an indignant reaction to his and Kalin’s interference with the Prince's life. The sentry stood, offering his chair to Elrohir, who took it gladly to sit beside Legolas, while Elladan sat on the opposite side of the Prince, and Kalin moved to stand behind him. The Elf was surrounded by friends whom he usually considered family; and yet, Estel could see the mounting distress in the laegel’s countenance.

“You broke your word to me. You promised to seek me out should you suffer, and yet you are keeping your pain to yourself, Greenleaf.”

_Leave it to Ada to be so forthright._

The Prince stiffened, his shoulders squaring and his back becoming straight. “You have aided me much. For that, I am thankful, but the suffering is mine alone, my Lord. If I have offended you, I am sorry.”

All in the room shifted uncomfortably. _Already this is going poorly._

The Peredhel continued steadfastly, “We are worried for you.”

“I’ve no wish to worry any of you,” the laegel declared, turning a mournful, sincere eye to each in the room save Kalin, who still stood behind his liege, and was thus unable to receive the Prince’s apologetic look.

The Elven Lord nodded and then straightaway made his point. “Is this why you choose to go to Mirkwood to face your attacker alone?” The Ranger saw the twins turn to their father, confused at this statement.

Legolas became more rigid, his knuckles white as he gripped his knees, though his face remained calm. “I was not aware that my personal affairs had spread so quickly, my Lord.” The formality of the Prince’s demeanor showed clearly his umbrage. “I go to Mirkwood because my King has ordered it thus. And I am not going alone. My sentries are accompanying me.”

Unable to hold his tongue, the Ranger blurted, “You know that is not what we mean. You are not well enough to go home.” He was similarly unable to hold his seat and stepped forward to his lover, but the flash of fierceness on the Prince’s face stayed him. He sat back down.

Softly, the deceptively calm Prince retorted, “I will go to Mirkwood, Estel, whether you believe me to be well or not.”

“What of the scar? You trouble it still,” Elrond changed the subject, disconcerting Legolas, who flustered and squirmed under the elder’s scrutiny. “And how came your lip to be injured?”

“It is nothing,” the Prince replied automatically, fingering the tacky blood on his mouth. “As for the scar, it bothers me, I will admit, but it, too, is nothing for any of you to be worried over.” Legolas sighed, “I am not so weak.” The last part was all but a desolate whisper. The Elf's hand rubbed the cloak lying over his marred thigh.

The Peredhel opposed, “No one claims you are weak. Will you not let us help you? I may yet convince your father to allow you to remain in Imladris until you have healed. With your permission, I will try.”

On one side of the Wood-Elf, Elladan told the laegel, “Or at least let us accompany you to the Great Wood. Elrohir, Aragorn, and I may be of some use.” On the other side, Elrohir pled, “Please, Legolas. You are as our brother. We will not let you suffer alone.”

Visibly, the laegel seemed to ponder on this. His head tilted to the side as though he were listening to an internal voice. Aragorn only hoped it was a voice of reason; however, the Prince stood, withdrawn but resolute before the Elven Lord, his usually joyful blue eyes dull and frosty. “Your offer of aid only suggests what you have denied. You believe me weak. I will burden you no more, Lord Elrond. Eryn Galen and her King thank you for your hospitality.”

Sunlight spilt through the window behind the Elven Lord’s desk, lighting an Elf that Aragorn had never seen before. _This is not Legolas but some charlatan._

“Needing one’s family is not weakness,” tried the Imladrian leader, but the Prince stopped his rapid march to the door only out of courtesy to his elder’s words before he quietly left the room.

 _This did not go well at all,_ the Ranger decided, jumping from his seat to trail his lover.

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_Do you need any more confirmation? They believe you weak. Why would they not? You are pathetic. You should only be comforted that Glorfindel has not told them of your disgusting propensity for pain, lest they lock you away in your room._

He refused to fondle the scar. He deserved this censure, he knew, for its conclusions were right.

_You should have faded. You only worry those around you. It would be better that they did not care or that you were not here for them to care for._

Legolas stalked down the hallway, impervious to his surroundings. He had thought to go to his bedroom, but knowing that Estel would seek him out there, the Prince made his way to the gardens.

_You will find no comfort there. Not even the forest will accept you. You are filthy. Lord Glorfindel and Mithfindl know you for what you are. How long before the others know? Mithfindl was right; you are base. You are revolting._

Unaware that he was speaking aloud, the laegel concurred, “I know.”

The hallways sped past him in nondescript blurs of murals and paintings, artifacts of the Elves and some of the humans, Dwarves, and other races that the Peredhel had lovingly accepted into his home and heart as friends. A steady, welcoming ache was beginning to make itself known in Legolas' back from having his body ground into his quiver under Mithfindl’s weight. He longed for the demise of the voice, even as he admitted willingly its veracious estimations of his circumstances and worth.

_The truth is hard for you, is it?_

The verdant, rich gardens of Imladris loomed ahead; their enchanting, earthy smell and friendly greenery went overlooked by the lost Wood-Elf. It was as the voice told him – the scar’s truth was too hard for the Prince to bear. He settled in a tree, laying his pained back against the bark of a friendly maple while he thought of a way to rid himself of the hateful, honest voice, if only for a while. 


	22. Chapter 22

Estel collapsed onto the settee, stretched his arms over his head and his legs far out, and stared out the balcony doors in front of him. The muscles and bones in his tired body complained and popped in protest.

_Where is he?_

All evening, the Ranger, twins, and Kalin had searched for Legolas down each hallway, all the many public rooms of the Last Homely House, and in every conceivable garden around Imladris. A driving rain had started, ending his efforts after he no longer had the strength to argue against his brothers’ reprimand that he should not spend all night in the cold, wet and hungry. He had forsaken the evening meal and the warmth of the hall of fire, choosing instead to await his lover’s return in the Elf’s rooms.

Only his worry kept him awake. _Legolas cannot truly suppose he is weak or a burden._ However, he knew the laegel believed these things; why the Silvan believed these damning suppositions was beyond him. Beset by a wicked chill, the Ranger contemplated, _If I do not remove this wet clothing, I won’t be able to follow Legolas on the morn because I will end up with a fever._

He stood. The robe the Prince had worn just that morning after their bath lay on a chair beside the bed; this he took in hand, placing it on the bed. Water dripped from his sodden clothing. _Once again, I am doused in cold water._ That the Wood-Elf was to blame for the Ranger being drenched once again, albeit inadvertently, caused Estel to smile. He left his clothes in a pile in the corner and pulled the robe over his shivering body.

 _Bergamot,_ he wondered, inhaling deeply the faint, familiar smell of his lover on the soft cloth. Thoughts ran unimpeded through his mind. _Where are you, Greenleaf?_ The rush of the waterfall was drowned out by the torrent of rain falling in the valley. Aragorn reclined on the settee, watching the storm wash away whatever snow had not yet melted in the mild day’s sun. _I hope he is not out in this weather._

When he had rushed from his father’s study, the Ranger had begun his search and had encountered his brothers shortly thereafter. Elrond had informed the twins of Kalin’s news – that is, Thranduil's decreed for Legolas to make reparations to the human, Kane. If at all possible, Elladan and Elrohir fretted for their longtime friend’s welfare as much as if not more than Aragorn. Together they had sought the Wood-Elf, enlisting Kalin, who had been conducting his own quest for his Prince, and had divided the main part of the Last Homely House between them.

They worried. they feared the damage the Wood-Elf had inflicted upon his wounded thigh, they were vexed by his bruised lip, but most of all, the Prince’s friends and lover were scared that in his solitude, Legolas would surrender to the overwhelming grief that he had thus far managed to quash, and that which all knew might eventually claim the laegel’s life. None had come across Legolas.

Pattering rain lulled the exhausted Ranger’s lids closed. Even in his dreams, he roamed the woods and halls of his home, looking for his lover.

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A clap of thunder woke the laegel, who had not been aware he was sleeping.

When the sun had not yet set, Legolas had heard Elladan calling for him, and he had slipped into the uppermost branches of the maple in which he had been resting. With a silent prayer to Eru that the Noldo would not find him, the Prince had rested his head on the coarse bark of the tree, his body sprawled out at ease on the limb. The last he remembered thinking were thoughts he did not claim as his, for the scar’s recriminatory accusations had left him feeling suspended between two worlds, a reality of light and love, and one of dark and hate – neither appealed to him, for each gave him naught but sorrow. His mind had raced, while his fingers twitched to rend the mar. To pacify himself, Legolas had ripped free a strip of his cloak and tied it firmly round his thigh in hopes that the feeble barrier would both stop the bleeding and his vile molestation of his broken flesh.

Now, as he sat up, the Prince was suddenly aware that his clothing was inundated with the rainwater of the storm that crashed above him. Legolas’ mind was blissfully calm. The moon, though obscured by the dark clouds overhead, provided his keen eyes with enough light to discern that the night was late and that he had slept far too long. His drowsy mind tried to awaken but he stifled the compulsion. He refused even to contemplate why it was he was so determined not to think.

An owl hooted to his left, the low sound carrying to him in a momentary lapse in the thunderous clamor of the storm. Legolas grinned towards the sound, admiring the night hunter’s fortitude despite the boisterous tempest. The Prince lingered on the maple branch, exalted by the sensation of the rain beating the top of his head and the resulting flow of water streaming down his face and body. Even the bite of the wintry air did not prevent him from enjoying the downpour.

_I will have to tell Estel of this._

Forthwith, his bliss quit him at the unbidden thought, leaving Legolas to feel flooded with the recognition of his circumstance instead of the pleasurable sensation of the water. _I cannot stay here the night. Undoubtedly, Estel is distressing over me even now._

He paused, awaiting the incessant concurrence of his marred flesh. Legolas heard nothing, breathed a sigh of relief, and then forced his torpid legs into motion. With the deftness only one accustomed to a life lived in the trees could ever accomplish, the Prince dropped to the ground, avoiding each limb in his path with serpentine flexibility until his feet touched the soft, soggy soil. The garden was empty, so the Wood-Elf ran recklessly across the tended beds, which were not yet planted with the life of spring, until he reached the nearest entrance. Having spent much of his young life and many of his adult years in Imladris, Legolas knew how to reach his rooms without detection. He took this route, sure that he had been sought, if he was not still being hunted.

The door to his bedroom was slightly ajar. He pushed the door open slowly so as not to rouse the Ranger that slept on the couch next to the balcony entrance. Brief illuminations of lightning lit the human’s form.

 _He cannot be comfortable,_ Legolas mused at the stiff position in which the Ranger had fallen asleep.

With his elbow cocked on the wooden armrest, his head resting on the fisted hand attached to said elbow, and his body otherwise upright and unyielding as he waited for his lover’s return, Estel did not appear to be at rest. Stripping his saturated cloak from his thinned shoulders, the Prince kept a vigilant eye on the Ranger. He did not wish to waken the human. Shedding the rest of his clothing, Legolas quickly found another robe in which to wrap, and then started a fire in the hearth to warm the chilled Ranger.

Nacreous light spilt across the room, its warmth a salving tincture to the laegel’s monochromatic view of his current circumstances. _It cannot be as bad as you would claim,_ he told the disfigured skin of his thigh, which had mercifully ceased its bleeding and its accusations. _Not if Estel is here with me._

Seating himself beside the Ranger, Legolas pulled the human’s head gently from his hand and the man’s slumbering body to him, placing the Ranger’s head upon his breast and drawing Estel into an embrace that the human returned in his sleep. Legolas watched with unknowing wonderment as Estel’s restlessness ceased; the Ranger breathed easy, for he was as sure in his waking as he was in his dreams that his love was safe beside him.

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Aragorn turned over in his sleep to find there was no place to turn. He was enfolded within a tangle of soft cloth and powerful limbs.

“Stop squirming or you’ll fall,” came a susurration in his ear.

_Legolas. Thank Eru._

The Ranger realized he still lay on the Elf’s couch, though most of him was draped over the Prince, his head on the Silvan’s chest and his body twisted such that he was lying on his side while Legolas sat propped against the armrest. The hearth had been lit and the heat of the Elf had warmed his frozenness; in the coruscations emanating from the dying fire, the lustrous, fair hair of his lover glistened like mithril. It made a curtain around Estel’s face when Legolas leant down to whisper to him, “It is not yet dawn. Go back to sleep.”

The imminent rising sun only meant that it would be too late for Aragorn to question the Prince, to ascertain that the Wood-Elf was well, and to plead for Legolas to allow him and the twins to accompany him to Mirkwood, should he still be intent on leaving. He made as though to sit but halted at the Prince’s quick intake of breath and hurried shift away from him. He tried to make an apology, “Legolas –”

“Don’t,” the Wood-Elf cut in, helping the man to sit while drawing his legs to him until both he and Aragorn sat beside the other, and no more mishap had come to the Elf’s wounded thigh. Estel watched the Prince in the dim light. Legolas’ eyes were squeezed shut, his head hung low, and his hands pressed the robe’s cloth over his thigh.

 _He is pained._ Remembering the last state of this injury, Estel’s healer’s instinct took over. The Ranger crossed the room to the washbasin, grabbing a towel with the pitcher before he returned to the Prince.

“Let me see.” He expected the laegel to deny him, but the Wood-Elf pushed the folds of fabric apart to bare his legs. Taking the acquiescence as good fortune, Aragorn inspected the wound impatiently, wishing he had also brought a candle with him for more light. The lesion was clean. It was also much worse than it had been when last he had tended it. Although he had a clear idea of how the injury had deteriorated, Aragorn asked anyway, “What happened?”

Perfunctorily, the healer wiped the area with the unsoiled towel, noting that the injury blessedly showed no signs of serious damage, even though the flesh of the Elf’s muscle and sinew had been gouged deeper than the middle segment of the original scar had initially been scored. Estel almost gave up on the laegel answering his query but the Wood-Elf spoke, saying, “I am mad.”

He stopped his task to look to his lover. Tears streamed down the Prince’s pale face. “Mad? Greenleaf,” he implored, dropping the towel to take the Wood-Elf’s long fingers in his, “you are not mad. You have endured much and are experiencing grief from your trials.”

The laegel smiled a humorless smile. “My mind is no longer sound.” As he spoke, Legolas’ robe opened further inadvertently, exposing his usually flawless chest to the Ranger.

“What happened here?” Several dark contusions spotted Legolas’ torso, including a nasty bruise around one rosy nipple.

 _He looks as he did when the merchants took him,_ the Ranger thought, and then immediately feared, _Has he been attacked again?_ The Elf only watched uninterestedly as the healer examined him. “Greenleaf, what has happened? Please, hide from me no longer.”

Estel hated that he had aggrieved the Wood-Elf with his reminder of Legolas’ broken promise to him, for the laegel turned his tear-stained face down in heart wrenching rejection. The Ranger would have his answers, still. “Did you do this?”

 _I almost hope he has, else someone will be spending his last night on Arda for this trespass._ However, upon closer inspection, Aragorn realized the bruises to be bite marks. _He cannot have done this. Someone will pay._

The flickering, orange firelight finally sputtered its last and died.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _Do not tell him. He already knows you are mad; will you now give him the evidence for your insanity?_ Legolas tried to pull his robe back around him. That the vile voice restarted its accusations made him ill. _I should have stayed in the trees. I should not have even waked him._

“Who did this? When did this happen?” Exasperated at the Elf’s continued reticence, the Ranger growled in frustration, yanking the Prince roughly by his arms to the carpeted floor on which he sat. The laegel moved deftly into a crouch before the human, ready to flee, as his anxiety and apprehension were aggravated by the discontented Ranger. “Stop this folly. You disguise your pain, you withdraw from it, and yet it torments you still. Tell me,” the human demanded, his hold on the Elf’s arms growing tighter.

 _What will you tell him? That you writhed under Mithfindl, eager for the pain his hatred brought you? That you would have let him use you to appease your perverse appetite for your own destruction?_ He could never tell Estel such awful things, true though they may be.

Anger overcame the Ranger and Legolas watched with fearful silence as the human abandoned his hold, throwing the unprepared Wood-Elf backwards with the suddenness of his release. His arms finally free, the Prince wrapped his robe around him, his nakedness shameful to him under the Ranger’s ire. Aragorn reached out to him. Legolas scrambled backwards, afraid of the anger in Estel's eyes. He had seen such emotion before and it had meant naught but anguish for him.

“Greenleaf…” The Ranger pled with him, “I am sorry.”

The Elf still retreated, standing rapidly to move away from the Ranger, who paralleled the Prince's movements, rising himself to stand to move towards the Elf. Legolas’ back was almost against the glass and wood doors that led to the balcony. For a moment, he considered opening them and leaping into the garden’s trees underneath, but the notion was summarily foiled by Aragorn bounding to him, entrapping him in a hug in which the laegel found he did not wish to flee.

“I am not angry with you. I am frustrated, yes, and infuriated with whoever inflicted these wounds upon you, but…Legolas. Please tell me.”

Shudders wracked his diminished frame, despite the loving embrace of the Ranger. “I would tell you, if I were not sure that you would find me as daft as I believe myself to be.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had never meant to scare Legolas; the abject, forsaken fear evident in the laegel’s reaction to him for the second time in less than one completion of the sun’s daily ritual had Aragorn immersed in guilt. While the Wood-Elf sobbed quietly, letting loose the wretched and guttural grief of one whose suffering, the Ranger realized, was truly making the Prince doubt everything – including his sanity – the human held tight to his lover.

Estel had railed at Legolas only moments before. His frustration and anger at the culprit of the Elf’s secondary wounds instigated his hypocritical inveighing of Legolas’ silence. He had spoken the words, begging the Elf to leave his numb cocoon while knowing the Elf’s hidden pain and perceived weakness, and then had promptly forgotten this knowledge to treat the Prince as though he were well – or responsible.

 _You should have acted with care,_ the Ranger rebuked himself, clutching the Wood-Elf to him as though he might disintegrate in his arms, but Legolas had already fallen to pieces.

“I am sorry,” Aragorn whispered into the top of the Elf’s hair. “Never fear me. I would never harm you, Greenleaf, you know this.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels, stroking the Elf’s hair. Both their robes were now open, their bare bodies pressed together, though there was no lust in their compelling need to feel the other close. They stood by the balcony doors in the dark, reveling in the nearness of each other.

When the Wood-Elf’s tears became lessened and calmed, Estel pulled back from the laegel grudgingly. “Hide no more. Tell me.”

 _Please,_ he added to himself. He would not let the Prince retain his painful secrets any longer.

Legolas nodded, avoiding the Ranger’s inquiring gaze but allowing Aragorn to guide him into sitting on the bed with him, propped against Estel, who sat against the cushioned headboard. It was a reversal of their similar position when the Ranger had first awoken. The Wood-Elf curled into himself against the Ranger’s chest, reminding the healer of the first time the Prince bared his soul to tell him of his trials in Lake-town. “I do not know what to tell you.”

Wrapping his arms around his lover, the Adan cued, “Where did the bruises come from?” With mounting unease, he waited for the Prince to divulge who had hurt him.

“It is not so easy an explanation.” Wiping his tear-stained face with the sleeve of his robe, the laegel sighed. “I’ve no wish to lose your esteem.”

 _He must truly be suffering to believe I could do anything but love him._ He said as much to the Silvan. “Such a thing would never happen.”

Estel’s assurance, or perhaps his persistence, finally breached Legolas’ veneer of salubrity over his tormented soul. “It speaks to me. All that I dreaded before what occurred in Lake-town, all the fears that have haunted me through my life plague me. It is not mere grief, Estel; it is lunacy and I cannot make it cease.”

He did not understand but he let the Elf continue. “That is not true. It ceases only when the scar is rent, when agony drives it away.” Legolas pushed his body hard against the Ranger, his hands fisting at the small of Estel’s back; in response, Aragorn wound his arms forcefully around the Wood-Elf, knowing the laegel wanted the contact as much as he did. “When I cannot bear its accusations I tear at it. But it comes and goes. I do not hear it when I am near you, though today, after we practiced at the archery range, its blame was more welcome than my fear of returning home.”

He still did not understand, for the Elf’s anomalous elucidation offered little by way of understanding.

“I fell asleep in the gardens this eve. I did not realize how tired I was until I woke, refreshed and forgetting of everything but the sound of an owl hooting as it hunted in the storm. I heard nothing then – not the charges of the vile scar or my own fears of returning home to my father’s detestation. I did not feel nothingness; I felt normal. I felt joy. For a few moments, I was as I had been – happy to be alive.”

Speechless, the Ranger’s mind reeled with what the laegel said. _He speaks of the scar as though it were not a part of him, as though it were a spirit in itself._ It was then that Aragorn realized Legolas was saying just that, but also that his marred flesh inhabited all that the Elf feared to be true regarding his worthlessness and Thranduil’s imminent legitimatization of his son’s defilement.

“And now that joy is gone. I cannot continue this farce. It is though there are two of me – one that can persevere by not feeling and one that desires to give way to grief, to die of it.” Legolas buried his head in the Ranger’s chest, burrowing away from his pain into a facsimile of safety that in truth the human could never offer the Prince.

“These bruises came from Mithfindl.” Immediately, the Ranger tensed, an action that did not go unnoticed by the Wood-Elf, who quickly supplied, “As ashamed as I am to admit it, I desired his painful affections, for at least awhile I felt nothing, not bliss, not pain, not fear or weakness, though it was not the same as when I felt myself.” Legolas shook his head. “Nothing was better than feeling.”

The dark room was lit by the rising sun, its radiance an illumination of both the Prince’s words and the Ranger’s ugly grasp of his lover’s plight.

_He is right. This is madness._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

After revealing the core of his dilemma, Legolas sat quietly, his ear pressed to the Ranger’s chest, listening to Estel’s soft breaths and the steady beat of his heart. He had told Aragorn that which he had never thought he would be capable of – his desire to hurt himself, his encounter with Mithfindl, and the basis for these, the scar. There was much he could tell the Ranger, much he wished to divulge, but as if knowing its demise was linked to such revelations, the scar began anew its mutinous complaints.

_He only knows you are weak, that you are mad._

As it commenced, the Prince loosened his embrace around the human’s waist to grip the flesh; he could not bear to hear its criticism while lying in his lover’s arms. This much he thought he deserved, if nothing else.

“Stop, Greenleaf,” the Ranger demanded harshly, yanking the laegel’s hand from his thigh to hold it tightly within his own. “What does it tell you now? What deceit does it bear?”

Legolas did not wish to repeat the spiteful words aloud, for he knew the Ranger would deny them, and it would only make him appear even more irrational. He told Estel anyway. “It says that you now know that I am weak and mad.” Tensing in expectation of an outburst from either the scar or his lover, the Prince was surprised when none was forthcoming, and so hesitantly relaxed.

Instead of an outburst, the Ranger only held the Wood-Elf closer, asking, “Do you believe I could ever think you mad or weak?” The Prince did not answer immediately, preferring instead to ponder whether he truly believed the human could see him as such, though the denial lay on his lips to claim otherwise.

_Why should he not think me such? Have I not acted feebly, absurdly these past weeks?_

“Legolas?”

“I do not know.” Therefore, he asked the human what he only just asked himself. “Have I not acted thusly? I have been a coward, unable even to control my own emotions, much less that which has happened to me. I could not keep you from harm, nor keep the first incident secret so as not to worry any of you. Now I have brought this burden to Lord Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Now I must face the wrath of my father for my weakness.” So quickly did he speak that he dared not take a breath lest he stop; the extroversion of the collected illness within him festered up and out in an expulsion of his anguish.

Aragorn shifted under him, apparently agitated. “Greenleaf, do you regret your actions in the forest? Do you wish the merchants to have killed me?”

Forthwith, he arched his body from the human’s arms to face Estel. “Never. Never would I have sacrificed your life. Do not doubt these actions.”

“But you doubt them, do you not? You think you have hurt me when you have saved me with your sacrifice.” Gently taking the Wood-Elf’s tear mottled face between his hands, the Ranger pulled the Prince forward to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “You think it is weakness that you grieve for what has happened, when most Elves would have chosen death. What strength it has taken for you to remain with us I cannot imagine.” The Adan’s calloused hands caressed down Legolas’ face, his neck, and to his shoulders where they stopped. “And it is as father said; it is not weakness to rely on others for aid, especially in your time of need.” Again, the human drew the Prince forwards, this time brushing his mouth across the laegel’s supple lips. “I need you, Legolas, always. Do you believe me weak? Had the same happened to me, or Valar forbid, to Elrohir or Elladan, would you believe them to be weak for needing friends and family near?”

Legolas realized Estel’s strategy and loved him for it. “I would not.”

“And would you blame us if we acted unreasonably? If we appeared mad in our grief?”

Without hesitation, the Silvan replied, “I would not.”

Resting his forehead against the laegel’s, Aragorn delivered his final argument as he stared into the Prince’s blue eyes. “Then why would you ever think we would hold such beliefs about you?”

He wished to say it was the scar, that it influenced his thinking, corrupting him into accepting the illogical culpability he believed to be his. Estel turned these ignorant suppositions on their head with his candid logic. Legolas could only laugh merrily at how easily his fear and blame were forgotten in the presence of the Ranger’s devotion. Grabbing the human’s ears as handles, he yanked Aragorn to him, playfully delving past the Adan’s lips to explore the depths of his lover’s mouth in impulsive yearning to show his appreciation and to taste the lingua that had uttered the words that promised hope for his salvation.

When their breath was spent, Legolas rested his head on the human’s chest again, saying, “Thank you.”

Someone knocked on his door, interrupting the two lovers' conversation. The laegel knew exactly who it would be. _Kalin._

Before he had the chance to call out to his visitor, his visitor called out, “Prince Legolas?”

The timid voice confirmed his intuition; the familiar tenor of his head sentry was likely attempting to rouse him for their early departure, for the golden and amber tinted beams of light spilling into the room told of the new day. _Today I am to leave for home,_ the Wood-Elf reflected, as yet unable to convince himself to move from the Ranger’s embrace. Aragorn cursed softly in annoyance that their discussion was not finished. Legolas sat up from his lounge against his lover to answer the door.

Barely had he scooted from the bed before the sentinel called again, this time with alarm, “Prince Legolas? Are you there? Are you well?”

To assuage his sentry’s worry, he finally answered, “I am awake, and well, Kalin. A moment, please.”

“Of course, my Prince.” Even through the thick wooden door, the Prince could hear the sentry’s sigh of relief.

Aragorn caught the Wood-Elf’s robed arm, which had been busy drying his face thoroughly of the evidence of his tears ere he spoke to Kalin. The human said nothing. The Elf did not need words to know what his lover wanted from him – time. With a curl of his lips and a gracefully arched brow, the Prince tugged the cloth of his robe free from the Ranger’s grasp and stood, saying, “Mayhap you could tie your robe, unless you’d like for Kalin to view your shapely endowments?”

His jest earned an amused, albeit weak snicker from Aragorn, who reddened at the praise and wrapped himself in the folds of his borrowed robe.

“Legolas,” the Ranger intonated, the utterance lilting with mock reprisal and frustration at the disturbance of their conversation.

The Prince paid him no mind. _What will I do?_ Swiftly he trod to the door, wishing he had the time to consider Estel’s unspoken request and the effects of what he had said and still needed to say to the Ranger. He pulled the door open with the intent of keeping it slightly ajar to stall Kalin’s knowing of his and Aragorn’s bond, since he was uncertain whether the sentry was aware of it or not. _Much has been discussed without me,_ he thought with some sullenness.To his surprise, the door was pressed forward, thereby forcing Legolas backward. Two agitated twins strode into the room with an unsure sentry following behind.

“Eru's arse, Greenleaf! We have been out all night looking for you! Have you been here long?” Elrohir gave the Prince a once over before latching onto him in a tight hug.

Elladan resumed Elrohir’s rant, adding his own to the arms encircling Legolas, “Estel was to have told us if you came to your rooms. Has he not shown? We persuaded him to wait here for you instead of searching for you in the rain.” None of the three Elves seemed to note the quiet human sitting on the bed, their attention instead on the Prince.

 _There will be no avoiding Kalin’s knowing now,_ the Elf decided, his misery at yet another confrontation educing his conclusion that no matter how difficult his life had seemed before, the last several months would forever complicate the rest of his immortality.

“Estel has shown. Why he did not inform you of my presence, I do not know. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Legolas inclined his head to the bed, evincing the Ranger’s presence, and drawing an embarrassed smile from Aragorn, the cheeky grins of two bedeviled Noldor, and a furious blush from his sentry.

“We have been searching for you and you have been in here –” Elrohir began, letting loose the Prince to face his brother.

Aragorn interjected quickly with a frown, perhaps thinking his Elven brother about to detail some sexual exploit, “Talking and warming ourselves from the cold rain.”

The Prince could not help but laugh. The strangeness and awkwardness of the situation, immaterial to him in this acute time of anguish, evoked a mirth that made him wish he could laugh his worries away permanently. His torment, the upcoming encounter with his father, and even the difficulties that would arise from his love of the Ranger were cast aside in a precious flash of beguiling humor. He laughed, enjoying himself even more at the confused stares of all in the room.

 _They will likely find me even crazier than before._ Falling back to lay on the bed and utterly careless of how his demeanor might be interpreted, the Wood-Elf chuckled, clutching his aching sides as they contracted in spasms of mirth at the degenerate hilarity of his circumstances. _Who cares,_ he thought without regard, _likely I_ am _crazy. I may as well enjoy it._

Aragorn hovered suddenly behind him, his disquiet drawing the Prince from his elation back into the dismal present. He held his sore ribs, his mirth gone but its residue remained. Answering the Adan’s unasked question, the Prince said to the beautiful, concerned face towering over his own, “All is well, fret not.” The Ranger showed no signs of relinquishing his worry, so the Elf added, “I am fine, I promise.” Aragorn stared disbelievingly at him.

 _They will never understand. Not even Estel will know what haunts me, though he may try,_ he mused, the thought indistinct in his mind while he righted himself to encounter three concerned faces. _No one will ever understand._

Kalin stepped to him, holding his hand out to aid his charge in rising from the disheveled bed – help that the laegel took to pacify his friend and sentry. “Prince Legolas,” he started, and then wavered as his confidence in what he meant to tell his Prince waned. “I have not yet ordered your sentries to gather for your departure.”

He did not miss the hopeful way in which his sentry approached the matter, underlying the subservience in which his friend spoke. Aragorn shifted expectantly behind him while the twins exchanged one of their silent, expressionless looks that in all his years as their friend, Legolas was never able to decipher the content.

Impulsively and against his better sense, the Elf Prince conceded, “Tell them to be prepared to leave after the noon meal. I have unfinished business to attend to this morning.”


	23. Chapter 23

Aragorn waited until Kalin had left to see to his duties before he queried, “And to what unfinished business do you need to attend?”

Not satisfied with the laegel’s decision to leave for Mirkwood, the abrupt change in his lover’s demeanor, or the odd shift from morose to happily melancholy, the confused Ranger decided that Legolas’ imminent departure was less worrisome than the immediate concern that his lover was well. His understanding of the Prince’s plight was rudimentary and the arguments he had made against the Wood-Elf’s self-doubts seemed trite to him, but the levity it instilled in Legolas was well worth the effort.

Searching through the trunk in which the possessions he kept at Imladris were stored, the fair Prince selected a pair of leggings and tunic from the chest, suitable for travel, ere he replied, “I should like to apologize to Elrond before I leave.”

The twins seated themselves simultaneously on the couch, not at all bothered that their human brother and his lover, albeit their friend of countless years, were on the verge of either an argument or a private discussion.

“That would be wise, although I am certain he will hold no grudge.” Scooting from the bed, the Ranger glared at his wayward brothers, both of whom smiled identically, innocently in return.

_Can they not keep their noses out of anything?_

Looking to the Prince, who was pulling leggings over his slim hips under the draping fabric of his robe, Estel asked, “Surely that would not take the entire morn? Can we not speak properly ere you leave?”

Legolas smiled, his grace a reminder to the Ranger of the Prince’s former self. “I think the time would best be spent packing, unless you have changed your mind about accompanying me to the Wood?”

The Ranger started, as did the twins, at the offhand suggestion indicating the Wood-Elf’s conformity to their plans. They would have followed the Prince regardless, but his asking Estel to travel with him was a surprise. _Elladan and Elrohir will come, also,_ the Ranger knew, rising from the bed to walk to his lover.

Discarding his robe and baring his upper body, the laegel stepped shamelessly into the human’s stride, pressing himself to Aragorn as he wrapped his arms round the Ranger’s waist, laying his fair head on the human’s shoulder. “Of course I will come with you to Mirkwood. You could not have stopped me.”

He spoke the truth; winding his own arms around the naked chest of his lover, Aragorn nestled his nose in the comforting, clean scent of the Wood-Elf’s hair, rubbing his face against the familiar warmth. That is, until Legolas stiffened, silently arching his back from the Ranger’s massaging hands. Although the Adan had not forgotten his companion’s injuries, he knew not of the deep, black bruise on the laegel’s back, and so did not understand when the Prince recoiled from his touch.

“It is nothing –” the Prince began, only to be turned around by the human, which exposed the vivid contusion to both the Ranger and the twins.

Elladan leapt from his seat, followed brusquely by Elrohir, to exclaim, “What has caused this?”

Legolas sidled away, seizing his tunic but unwittingly displaying the florid marks on his chest as he did so. “Do not worry. My quiver made this bruise.”

Biting his lip to keep from asking the source of the newly found brand, as he was certain he knew who had caused it, Aragorn diverted Elladan’s disbelieving response by asking the twins, “Has father awoken yet?”

“I don’t think he slept. He is in his study, as always,” Elrohir replied, his eyes never leaving the telltale signs of recent abuse upon the Silvan’s body.

As he shoved his arms through the tunic’s sleeves and pulled the fabric roughly over his body to cover his nakedness, the laegel promised, laying his hand on the Ranger’s forearm, “I’ll be back soon. I’ve only to talk to Elrond and then see to my sentries.” Pressing his lips against the Ranger’s in a light kiss, the Elf grabbed his boots, pulled them on effortlessly, and then headed out the door.

The Ranger sat back on the bed, very aware that the twins would question him. They did not disappoint, and Elladan came to stand before him. “Estel, what has happened to Legolas?”

Aragorn did not wish to lie to his brothers, nor did he care if the Prince would be angry with him at his disclosure, for he intended to see retribution for the abhorrent Noldo’s trespass. “He was victim to Mithfindl’s base attentions,” he answered simply, “although not entirely unwelcome attentions, according to Greenleaf.”

Growling, Elrohir’s hand seized repetitively the empty air where his sword’s hilt usually lay against his waist. “And when did this occur?”

Realizing he wasn’t altogether certain of when the Wood-Elf encountered the detestable Noldo, the Ranger made to say so, but was interrupted by Elladan surmising, “The fool left shortly after Estel and Legolas. Was it while we looked for Greenleaf?”

“That would explain Glorfindel’s angry disposition, though Mithfindl breathes yet. Glorfindel would not have let him leave with all his limbs intact should he have come across the Prince being accosted,” Elrohir added, speaking solely to his twin.

Aragorn was perpetually amazed at the twins’ ability to fabricate untold events from only a few scraps of information; they were usually right. _Glorfindel?_ he asked himself, wondering what role the commander had played. Trying to disrupt their infuriated banter, the Ranger raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak. He was ignored.

“Not if he didn’t see the events in their entirety or if Legolas downplayed them. You know he doesn’t want anyone to worry over him,” Elladan offered.

“Brothers –” the Ranger managed to say.

Elrohir grabbed at the void where his dagger was usually strapped to his thigh, his hands unable to be still in searching for a weapon out of fury. “I suppose we could just ask Glorfindel what has happened. He would gladly help us obtain answers from Mithfindl should he not know.”

“Brothers –” the Ranger managed to interject again. The twins looked at him blankly, as though just remembering he was in the room. “It seems we’ve our own unfinished business to which to attend. Let me find dry clothes and then we will say our goodbyes to Mithfindl. But quickly. We need to pack. I want to be ready either way, in case Legolas changes his mind.”

Opening the door to the Prince’s room, the Ranger was trailed by his brothers across the hallway, where Estel’s room was located. They entered the rooms, which were unused since the Ranger’s last return to Imladris, as Aragorn had stayed the past two nights in Legolas’ quarters. “You mean you haven’t packed yet? Elrohir and I are ready for departure.”

Elrohir rummaged through a chest of drawers, throwing leggings and tunics into a heap on the Ranger’s bed. “Truly, Estel. I’d rather our goodbye to Mithfindl not be rushed. I’ve much I’d like to say to the pompous bastard.”

With a snicker, the human grabbed the stained, tattered, but clean clothes he usually wore while traveling, earning a grimace of distaste from the twins. He pulled on his trousers and then shed the laegel’s robe, tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Why did he consent?” Elladan’s hushed question befuddled the Ranger at first, as his mind was elsewhere.

Aragorn pulled the tunic over his head, as yet unwilling to tell the twins what Legolas had only just tried to explain to him, but knowing that they, too, needed to understand to help the Wood-Elf, he admitted with a forlorn sigh, “For the same reason he tears at the scar.”

Two identical sets of dark eyebrows hoisted high at the elucidation. Elladan queried while stuffing the Ranger’s possessions into a bag, “And why is that, brother?”

“The pain keeps the scar quiet. It eases his grief,” he uselessly explicated.

The twins shared a look between them but did not ask for more information. To Aragorn, Elrohir directed their next question, saying, “To what did he consent?”

Aragorn did not know the answer to Elrohir’s question. He burned at the unwanted image of his lover copulating with another. “I do not know to how much he consented,” he admitted. “Although I am certain Legolas would have told me should anything…” Struggling to find a fitting word to describe the appalling vision of the quiescent Prince being mauled by Mithfindl, the young human tightened the ties of his tunic harshly. _I wish I’d the time to speak with him of this._

“I am sure nothing serious has happened.” Elladan paused his packing to reassure the Ranger, “Given that his lip was split when we came upon Legolas while looking for him, it is likely as we have supposed and this occurred during the short time between your finding us and us finding him.”

Yanking open another drawer, Elrohir added helpfully, “Besides, Glorfindel found Legolas, not us, which means they had even less time together.”

“It was only because of the scar,” the Ranger whispered more to himself than to the twins in a feeble justification of why his lover had unwittingly betrayed him.

Although he appreciated his brothers’ assurances and did not doubt the Wood-Elf’s love for him, the Prince had concealed Mithfindl’s attack and much more already, and so it was with some uncertainty that Estel thought, _Legolas would have told me._

The twins did not seem surprised at Estel’s intimation of the scar’s hold over the Prince. Much to the Ranger’s astonishment, Elladan and Elrohir, who were typically curious to a fault, did not inquire as to the details of the scar’s peculiar suasion on Legolas’ actions. Instead, Elladan only nodded and resumed packing the human’s bag with extra clothes while Elrohir continued his haphazard search through Aragorn’s bureau for other items the Ranger would likely need. Having dressed for travel, Estel picked up an ornate box from atop the bedside table, and opened it to retrieve another pipe and packet of pipe-weed, as his other was left behind after the attack upon the laegel in the Mirkwood forest.

Aragorn inhaled the pungent smell of the pipe-weed and remembered his father saying that Legolas had traveled to Lake-town to buy pipe-weed for him. _I wish I’d the time to ask him of this. I wish I’d the time this morning for many things._

“Well,” Elrohir interrupted the silence, slamming shut the drawer he had been ransacking and drawing the Ranger from his idle musing and back to the task at hand, “I am sure that Mithfindl was not aware of Legolas’ condition. Nor do I believe that Greenleaf was altogether as submissive as Mithfindl no doubt found him to be. So I suppose –”

“— that we shan’t be able to kill him. That is true, my brother,” Elladan finished, buckling the Ranger’s bag, “although I much desire to. No, we will have to settle for breaking his arms or legs.”

His well-worn leather overcoat lay on the bed; the human pulled it to him to stow his pipe in an inside pocket, snorting in amusement at his brothers’ over-protection. He would not need to carry much on this journey, as the Wood-Elves would have provisions procured from Imladris’ stores of food enough for them all. With his brothers accompanying him, the Ranger would not even need to worry about obtaining many healing supplies or herbs, for the twins would lade themselves with all that may be required and then some.

“Might I suggest that we merely threaten Mithfindl? Glorfindel will be highly upset to find we have maimed one of his warriors.” The Ranger’s proposal was not merely for Glorfindel or Mithfindl’s benefit, but for Legolas.

 _We meddle in his matters again. I hope he does not perceive our reckoning of Mithfindl’s trespass as an indication of our thinking him weak._ As soon as the thought came to him, Aragorn regretted involving the twins. _There will be no checking their tempers._

“Threaten him? You wish merely to menace him? Scar or not, Mithfindl had no cause to bruise Legolas as he did, or treat him as he has.” Elrohir flopped onto his stomach atop the bed, kicking onto the floor the remainder of the clothing that had not fit into Aragorn’s bag. At times, in private, it was hard to reconcile such graceless foolery with the image of stateliness that both twins projected in public.

 _They are likely exhausted from searching for Greenleaf all night,_ Estel determined, watching his brother lay his head on his folded arms and close his eyes.

Elrohir added, his eyes still closed, “I would have thought you would argue for his death, not for lenience!”

Elladan, however, seemed to understand the Ranger’s concern intuitively, and so tilted his head quizzically at Aragorn to ask, “You believe Legolas will become upset with us?” Sitting on the bed with more propriety than his younger sibling had shown, the elder twin smacked the back of Elrohir's head, earning a yelp of pain from his twin, who rolled promptly onto his back to avoid further punishment for his lack of tact.

_I may as well tell them more of the scar’s influence upon Legolas. It does no good to keep this from them._

The Ranger sighed. “He believes he is weak. Legolas doubts himself and the mar upon his thigh seems to be the center of these feelings. It is as though it speaks to him.” Elrohir sat up; each fair Noldo stared at him dubiously. “I’ve no desire to reinforce this conviction by showing him we believe that he cannot see to his own affairs.”

For a few moments more, the mirrored, expressionless stares of his brothers scrutinized his face. Having long grown used to the incisive glare of the Elves, especially those of his brothers, Aragorn returned their severe looks without difficulty.

Finally, Elrohir smiled and leapt from the bed to pull his twin and human brother to their feet. “Indeed. But come, the morning wastes away, and if we are to pester Mithfindl, we must have the time to be convincing. We will have answers from him, if not blood.”

Aragorn followed the avid Elrohir halfheartedly to the door; he paused, letting Elladan pass him to go out the portal. He glanced around his rooms. other than the pile of clothing in the floor all else was orderly save for his bags, weapons, and additional minutiae of travel that lay on the bed, awaiting his departure.

A tug on his arm diverted his attention back to Elrohir, who was once again twisting the fabric of his tunic impatiently in one hand just where his sword would lie had he been wearing it, while the other hand was intent on hauling the Ranger down the hallway. “Come, Estel. I know just where Mithfindl will be at this time of the morn.”

The reluctant human obliged and trailed the chattering twins.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He walked down the corridor leisurely, prolonging reaching Lord Elrond’s study. _I can’t waste any of this morning. I’ve too much to do before I leave,_ he chided himself, though he wished he could stay in Imladris longer.

Such a maze were the hallways in the Last Homely House that visitors often became lost in them only to be found and guided by the many helpful servants. Legolas had crossed many such deferential Elves as he walked from the wing devoted to family to take the longer route to his destination, for he had gone up the main stairwell rather than using the staircase in the family wing itself to reach the floor above, where Elrond’s study laid. Each servant he passed bowed to him politely, while their smiles of recognition heartened him despite the formality. As the Prince had spent many years in Rivendell, the staff knew him well. His buoyancy lightened each footstep, while Aragorn’s cleansing, simple words echoed through his mind, and he nearly found himself singing as he ambled unhurriedly down the hallway in which lesser dignitaries were at home in their rooms, the soft sounds of their morning rituals greeting the calmed Wood-Elf.

When he had finally reached the uppermost floor, passed the now empty council rooms and then the apothecary, Legolas stood in front of the Elven Lord’s study. Legolas knocked softly on the large door, and then waited tolerantly for Elrond to call out his admittance, while his apprehension rose in dread of the pending discussion. _I do not anticipate this confession._

He lifted his hand to knock again after several minutes went by with no answer, but the door opened abruptly, exposing the unreadable, serene commander of Imladris. Glorfindel welcomed the laegel, “Good morning, Prince Legolas. Come in.”

 _Ai Valar. Let him not have told Elrond of yesterday in the forest._ Although he fully intended to tell his elder of his encounter with Mithfindl, the Wood-Elf did not desire to contradict the commander’s story with his own diluted version of events.

“Good morning, Lord Glorfindel. I was hoping to speak with Lord Elrond, if he is about,” the suddenly anxious laegel replied in kind, stepping into the study as Glorfindel stepped back to allow him entrance. While other races may have found the Elves always to be staid, amongst each other it was easier to determine the emotions of another Elf. Now in Glorfindel's company, Legolas felt he had much to learn at hiding his nervousness, for he felt like the child he was in comparison to Glorfindel's many years.

“I am here, Greenleaf, working, as usual.”

The welcoming call of Elrond somewhat settled Legolas’ overwrought nerves and he followed the commander respectfully into the depths of the study, where Elrond’s shelves of healing books were kept. Shafts of sunlight from the many windows danced across the glossy, leather-bound books that the Wood-Elf walked past, and the distinct smell of lilac met his nose.

Amongst the tomes and scrolls sat the Peredhel on the floor, his dark hair pulled back into a casual, single braid and his robes those of leisure, not of propriety. With his face buried in a book and his fingers tapping idly the spine of the volume as he held it, the elder appeared more a librarian than like an Elven Lord. When he looked up, his verdigris eyes flitting from commander to laegel, Legolas felt the rest of his unease leave him in the warmth and forgiveness of Elrond's gaze.

“Good morning, my son. I have been expecting you.” 


	24. Chapter 24

_Even the way their hair swings is identical,_ Estel mused as he trailed behind the twins, watching their long swarthy braids sway in tandem as they walked to the fields where the warriors of Imladris trained. _It is a wonder anyone can tell them apart._

He knew better. While Elrohir was blustery, emotional, and more outgoing, Elladan was quiet, rational, and aloof. Together one complemented the other, making up for his half’s faults such that it was often impossible to understand one’s words or actions without the other close at hand. Nevertheless, Aragorn realized that though Elrohir may be the bark, Elladan was the proverbial bite, and it would be the eldest he would need heed when they caught up to Mithfindl.

 _I hope that we will not find him._ As much as he desired to castigate the Noldo for his part in Legolas’ newfound bruises, the Ranger’s concern that the Prince would be displeased with their interference grew, dousing his sizzling indignation.

The warm, early morning of the new day marked the spring’s dominance over wintry yesterday, instilling within the Ranger an unasked for but appreciated, burgeoning hope. _Mayhap all will be well,_ he thought, minding his step so as not to tread on sprouting wildflowers as they traversed the budding meadow next to the archery field, where only the day before Legolas had fled his touch. _Mayhap Thranduil will see sense, if only once in his long life, or be pleased for Legolas’ safe return._

Elladan and Elrohir were chatting of the fruiting season, though mostly through tacit glances and gestures at their verdant surroundings and the springtide of immature growth that was slowly overtaking the dreary, dull ambiance of winter.

 _Mayhap Legolas’ visit to Ada will bring him new faith. I fear he will need it before we reach Mirkwood._ The Ranger refused to think about what might happen after Mirkwood, whether his lover would stay to look after his princely duties, or if the laegel could be persuaded to accompany him in the wilds or back to Imladris. He was not ready to consider any absence from Legolas. _Besides,_ Aragorn decided, pushing back his gnawing concerns of their imminent departure to Mirkwood, _I’ve other matters to attend, the least of which is this fool._

Several pairs of warriors practiced their swordplay under the vigilant gaze of one of Glorfindel’s underlings, Raveara, who circled the sparring Imladrian warriors under his training while shouting instruction to them over the din. Most of the warriors here at the moment were young in Elven years, but even those who had been in the Imladrian guard for centuries still participated in training to keep their bodies agile and their minds sharp for when their deadly talents were needed. Amid the clash of swords and grunts of exertion ahead of the trio sat the Noldo they sought, his dark silvern head a gleaming beacon to the resentful twins and human. Mithfindl reclined against the trunk of a tree, resting and conversing with another Elf.

 _Who is he to be at rest when Legolas can find no repose?_ For an inexplicable reason, it burned the Ranger that the Noldo should be at ease while Legolas suffered. Even though it was not Mithfindl who had instigated the Wood-Elf’s ailment, the Noldo had taken advantage of it. He had used the Prince’s doubts against him and indisputably had added to Legolas’ anguish with the affirmation – at least in the laegel’s mind – that he could escape the memories of his torment at the merchants’ hands by accepting torment from another’s hands, as he did when using his own fingers to gouge into the scar.

“Mithfindl, _friend_ ,” Elrohir called in facetious amity, “since you appear to be resting, perchance we can borrow a moment of your morning?”

It pleased the Ranger to see Mithfindl swivel round to see who spoke to him, his face suddenly ashen, and his eyes wide with alarm to see the approach of the only two Elves and human with the mettle to confront him. Perhaps it was the false friendliness the twins displayed or Mithfindl’s nobility-bred confidence that none would dare assail him, but the Noldo rose, his own mendacious smirk a suggestion of defiance – or perhaps just an attempt to hide his anxiety.

“As you can see, my Lords,” the silver Elf began, bowing slightly to the twins before barely glancing at Aragorn to add spitefully, “and _human_ , I am busy training. I have not the moment to spare.”

Mithfindl turned on heel, though the foot he lifted as he made to walk away did not meet the ground – Elladan bounded forward, grabbing the startled Noldo’s arm to spin him back about to face the Ranger and Elrohir. A kick landed behind the silver-haired Elf’s leg threw the Noldo off balance such that he fell to his knees. None of the Elves with whom Mithfindl had been conversing paid them any mind; in fact, most quietly moved away from the quarrel in reluctance to interfere on Mithfindl’s behalf, which was more than likely out of respect for Elladan and Elrohir. The twins had a reputation for being cheerful and helpful and they had the esteem of the Imladrians over whom their father presided, but they were also known to be proficient, deadly fighters. Like Elrond, his twin sons were slow to rise to anger, but once their anger was roused, the only safe choice for those in their vicinity was to clear out of the way.

“I believe my brother was too kind in asking, you craven snake.” With his hand on the offensive Elf’s shoulder, Elladan kept Mithfindl kneeling on the wet ground before nodding to Elrohir and Aragorn to begin their questions.

The twins and human’s hushed wrath rankled Mithfindl’s calm demeanor; fear cracked the icy mask the Noldo wore and loosened the story from his lips without being asked. “I did nothing he did not desire. You’ve no cause to be angry,” the silver-haired Elf claimed, attempting to gain his feet only to be pushed tersely back down by Elladan. Mithfindl scowled at Elladan but did not try to stand again. Instead, he grudgingly settled into sitting back on the booted heels of his feet and eyed Aragorn, grinning while he taunted, “You surely understand, human. I am certain you are the one who taught him such an amusing hobby.”

“Quiet your slimy serpent’s tongue or I will relieve you of it,” Elrohir promised, stepping forward to remove the warrior’s dagger from its loop, where in the younger twin’s hand it hovered ominously above Mithfindl’s face.

Elves began to gather around them but their escapade did not yet catch the attention of all. The busy instructor continued his critiquing of those furthest from the altercation, who had not yet been drawn to the spectacle. The Ranger noted the panic with which the Noldorin warrior glared at Elrohir, though his pretense of conceit never left him, even under the threat of the knife. Rightfully, Mithfindl knew that Elrohir would not commit violence against him, for it would be honorless to strike or hurt Mithfindl while he was forced on his knees, outnumbered, and weaponless.

Elrohir’s intimidation did not serve to quiet Mithfindl. The silver-haired Elf snorted, aiming his words at the reserved Ranger as he taunted, “I give you too much credit. Surely, you received help in breaking him in. Tell me, to how many humans has your Princeling given himself to obtain such a desire for suffering as he has?” Even as Elrohir growled, flicking the dagger’s tip dangerously close to Mithfindl’s face, the Noldo continued, his smile growing at the Ranger’s increasing agitation. “For how many other foul mortals has your revolting Wood-Elf spread his milky, bestial thighs? He moaned and writhed under me like a spoilt, well-seasoned whore waiting to be fucked,” the warrior mocked, chuckling as Aragorn’s calm façade broke.

Mithfindl’s humor fell promptly, however. The Ranger found that he had not needed to worry over Elladan’s quiet rage or Elrohir’s vehement fury; no, it was his own ferocity he ought to have held in check. At this, he failed. In a flash of dark cloth and leather, the Ranger leapt across the short distance between him and the mouth that dared to besmirch Legolas, that spoke the hideous half-truths with hate and condemnation instead of the veneration and forgiveness the Wood-Elf deserved. Elladan and Elrohir moved with the quick grace of their kind and still only just managed to avoid the hurtling form of their young, human sibling. Tackling the Noldo to the ground, Estel unbridled the augmented, feral violence he could no longer contain in a rain of fists upon the prone Noldo’s face and chest, hammering the hapless warrior before Mithfindl could use the advantage of his superior strength to overcome the human. The heel of his hand met the Noldo’s nose and with a loud crunch, the bone broke.

_Legolas would never give himself to another._

They finally drew the attention of the remaining Elves in the clearing. Too busy perusing the satisfying, increasingly bloodied face of the Elf under him, the Ranger did not see but heard the outraged shouts of Raveara calling for him to halt and for the twins, who had encircled the pair to keep any from stopping Estel from venting his anger, to move out of the way. Mithfindl’s attempts at avoiding the hail of fists were in vain, and his twisting form, eager to remove itself from the weight blocking his rising, only spurred the human’s violence.

_Legolas is no whore._

“Enough,” the instructor demanded, living up to his name with this loud roar and finally shoving Elrohir, Elven Lord or not, from his way to reach Aragorn. Upon feeling the instructor’s grip upon his arms, the Ranger slid his feet under him for the leverage to kick Mithfindl even as he was hauled from the bleeding, now insensible Elf. Strong hands held him steady and motionless against a tree far from the Noldo, with Raveara on one side and on his other another Elf who had come to help contain the Ranger.

“He will cause no more trouble,” Elladan promised the instructor, taking hold of the Ranger’s arm as Elrohir did the same to replace with their own hands the grip that the other Elves had on their brother. Raveara rushed away without even acknowledging this thin promise and the twins and huffing Ranger watched the crowd of Imladrians surrounding Mithfindl part as the instructor made his way to check on his charge. No longer under the watchful gaze of the trainer, the twins released Aragorn to ply him with their gratified smiles and led him from the clearing before their absence was noticed.

“If that is your idea of menacing someone, I would hate to see you truly angry, brother,” Elrohir quipped, hurrying their pace away from the field.

Aragorn stopped and turned to watch the now sentient Mithfindl as he sat up with the help of Raveara. Mithfindl’s battered face was burning with shame at being beaten by a human. From his far vantage point, the Ranger could tell that the Noldo’s nose was broken and his eye and lip split from the force of the pummeling he had bestowed upon the heinous warrior.

 _Legolas is not tainted,_ the Ranger thought, only vaguely aware of his thoughts as his brothers pulled him onwards away from Mithfindl and the uncalled for wrath he had shown. 


	25. Chapter 25

“Sit down,” Lord Elrond suggested, moving a pile of scrolls to bare a spot next to him on the floor. Immediately, the laegel sat, dropping elegantly onto the stone floor cross-legged and close to the elder Elf. He was not careful in his movement, however, and though he stifled a grimace of pain, Legolas was unable to fool the Elven Lord from seeing the agony that stretching his thigh caused him. “Greenleaf! Tell me you are not injured further!”

There lay no true censure in Elrond’s reprimand – merely concern – but the Peredhel’s words still brought the laegel shame. Throwing a quick glance at the unreadable commander, who had not moved from his stance nearby, Legolas deflected, “It is the same injury.”

“Your wounded thigh?” Glorfindel’s deadpan question intimidated the Prince but he had not the chance to answer as the commander continued, confirming Legolas’ fears, “Just moments ago I asked Elrond if he had seen to this injury.”

The vague remark served only to heighten the laegel’s discomfort. Legolas dipped his head in acquiescence, lowering his eyes from the esteemed elder’s gaze as he replied in a similarly indistinct manner, “Yes. The wound does not heal properly.”

_If he has talked to Elrond of this, then at least I will not be forced to repeat all that has occurred._

“I am sure Elrond can help you, Prince,” the Imladrian commander stated decisively. To Legolas’ relief, Glorfindel bowed slightly to him in respect before turning to the Lord of Imladris to say, “I am needed on the training fields; please excuse me.”

“Of course,” the Peredhel replied to Glorfindel, who was not merely the commander of the Imladrian soldiers but also one of Elrond’s closest friends and a valued advisor. The Prince watched Glorfindel’s straight-backed form leave the library and heard the soft snap of the door being shut shortly thereafter. Turning to face the laegel, the Noldorin leader asked, “Are you prepared to depart this morning, ion nin?”

The laegel watched as motes of dust lazed through the air around them, rather than facing his Minyatar. He fought the urge to fidget. “I have instructed Kalin to be ready after the noon meal.”

If Elrond noticed the Wood-Elf’s latent shame, he did not act any differently, but replied in a kind, even tone, “Then you will leave us still. I had hoped you might change your mind.”

By the Silvan’s thinking, he had no right to change his mind, since his King had ordered him to return home, but he did not argue this point with Elrond. “I will leave, my Lord, though Estel will accompany me – as will the twins, I imagine.”

“It will be hard for you to lose Elladan and Elrohir." The Peredhel beamed in agreement of the laegel’s assumption about his twin sons following. “If you must leave, then my mind is at rest that you will have three of your closest companions by your side. What of Kane and your father’s demands?”

As blunt as ever, Elrond’s question cut to the quick of the matter at hand. With similar candor, the laegel answered, “I do not know. I will speak to Ada, but should he still find me culpable for the merchants’ deaths, then I will see his orders’ fruition. He is my King and father. I must obey him.”

The Peredhel remained outwardly impassive with his gaze lingering on the stack of parchment he held. “It is true you must face your father, Greenleaf, but do not accept penance twice for a sin that was never yours.”

Enigmatic as the statement was, the Prince understood. He had already suffered as the object of the merchants’ transgressions and would likely suffer again for them if King Thranduil upheld his decree for his son to make reparations. For a few moments, the Noldo shelved his ancient and irreplaceable books while Legolas watched, taking note of the often untitled or obscurely labeled volumes. _Whatever he has been researching, it appears he has revisited most of these books to find his answer._

A shaft of sunlight lit upon Legolas’ face when Elrond moved to place a scroll behind him, reminding the Wood-Elf with its illumination of the emergent day and of the motive for his visit. “I am sorry, Minyatar. Please forgive my insolence yesterday – and for breaking my promise to you to seek your help should I need it. I have acted puerilely.”

The Peredhel unrolled another scroll to scan briefly its contents. “You are forgiven for your outburst. As for your broken promise, you have come to remedy that, have you not?” Not waiting for the Prince to reply, he rerolled the scroll and handed it to Legolas. “Please place this behind you on the shelf above your head.”

Legolas did as he was asked and thought of how to begin. While he would not lie to Elrond, the Prince loathed explaining the nadir of his madness out of fear that he would lose his Minyatar’s regard. _I wonder what Glorfindel has told him,_ he pondered, thinking that he might ask so that he would know how best to mitigate the damage that the story would incur to his character. The Silvan suddenly had his answer before he could even ask the question.

“Glorfindel came to me this morning when he heard you were leaving for Eryn Galen so soon after arriving,” Elrond intimated casually, shelving a leather-bound tome before turning to Legolas. The Prince’s concern must have been obvious, for the Lord of Imladris smiled kindly and explained, “Glorfindel was worried for you, as he reports he witnessed an odd encounter between you and Mithfindl in the forest. After your assurance that it was nothing of importance, Glorfindel thought little of it until Erestor told him of the tragedy that has befallen you.”

 _Erestor knows and now Glorfindel knows._ Legolas dropped his head and closed his eyes. _Is my disgrace the topic of everyone’s dinner conversation now?_

Perhaps Elrond could see the unease upon the laegel’s face, for he reached out to lift the Silvan’s face by a light touch under his finger, and then assured Legolas, “No one but Erestor and Glorfindel know of it, ion nin – at least, not from me, Elrohir, Elladan, or Aragorn. Unless one of your sentries has spoken out of turn, then it will stay that way should you choose. For now. Word will eventually spread.”

This relieved the laegel somewhat. Erestor and Glorfindel were not just any Elves but Elrond’s dear friends. They were like brothers to Elrond, much as Elladan and Elrohir were brothers to Legolas; therefore, the Prince felt certain that if they had been asked to keep what they knew to themselves, then they would do so. But Elrond was right – the Wood-Elf could not hope to keep what he had undergone a secret.

Elrond paused in his work and speech when the Prince remained silent. Although Elrond had asked no question, the Wood-Elf felt compelled to clarify his actions and words, and so that which he feared he would not be able to explain to Elrond from dread of losing his esteem tumbled from the Prince's lips in a gush of agonized confusion.

“Mithfindl is not to blame. It is as I told Lord Glorfindel. I desired the pain Mithfindl’s attentions brought, at least until I realized what I was doing.” He shifted uncomfortably under the Elven Lord’s steady gaze, taking in a deep breath before he continued, “It is the scar. What misfortune has befallen me is nothing in comparison to its continued influence. Only the pain keeps it quiet. I thought myself to be mad; it told me I was mad. I did not wish to speak of it; I did not wish everyone to know my madness.” Remembering Aragorn’s words, the laegel admitted, “No, it is not only the pain that quiets the scar. Estel seems to calm its hateful vociferations, though not always.”

Legolas realized he rambled and promptly made to apologize; however, the Peredhel interrupted with a question, his brow knit with his own confusion, “The scar speaks to you?”

When the Prince nodded, the Noldo returned his attention to his books, staring at the pile before him as though suddenly puzzled as to why he held them and where they should go. Elrond queried, “When did this first happen?”

He did not need time to think of when the scar had first spoken to him, when it had first expressed its vile essence, but he loathed to relate such intimate details to the elder Elf. Legolas’ hesitance to answer caused the Elven Lord of Imladris’ eyebrow to raise high and the Wood-Elf to blush fiercely. “It occurred during your first coupling with Aragorn?”

Hearing the words aloud, the Prince realized that after he and Estel first made love may have been when the scar first spoke to him, but the mar had made its presence known before when Sven and Cort appeared in the clearing. He said as much to Elrond, “That is true, but it wielded its sway previously. I felt nothing from it until the second attack in the woods. It pained me, though it had healed enough to cause me no discomfort before meeting them along the trade route. And no injury came to it to cause pain at that time.”

Tilting his head in deliberation, the laegel tried to recall the event without remembering the horrific details of his subjugation. “It ached. It reminded me of what had happened in Lake-town. I gave it little attention then. On the mountainside, I felt disconnected and distant. My nightmares made me wish not to sleep.” Like an itch made worse by thinking of it, the scarred flesh of his thigh wanted his mauling attention now that he spoke of it. He nearly rubbed the mar in absentmindedness but caught himself before Elrond noticed. “I awoke, digging into the scar. Pain was all I could feel; by experiencing the pain of the scar, I knew I had already lived through being attacked and that I was safe.”

Sympathy and hope lit the Elven Lord’s face. He smoothed behind one ear an errant, fugitive lock of his braided ebony hair, and asked, “Was it before the merchants gave you the poison, or after, that you first felt the scar as if it were an entity of its own?”

Legolas briefly considered this before he answered, “Before.”

The hope fell from the Peredhel’s visage but his sympathy remained. “Tell me more. Tell me of what it has said to you, and when, but come, let us find refreshment and more comfortable seating.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sat on a bench in the secluded pleasance that was kept tended and private for only the enjoyment of Elrond, his children, or by invitation of Elrond or his family, while waiting for midday. The pleasance was accessible only by Elrond, Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir’s separate rooms, and could not even be looked down into from upper levels, for the uppermost level of the house was Elrond’s study, and because it lay above the family’s rooms, it had the only view into the walled in garden. Aragorn glanced upwards; on the front and back sides of Elrond’s study ran terraces on which the healer grew herbs and various plants. Although the human could see the terrace running along the back of the house and the plants thereon, he could not see into the study, where right now he believed the Prince to be speaking to the Adan’s foster father.

_I hope Greenleaf is in there speaking to Ada and that Ada has some wise advice for him._

Their plans were fulfilled and their bags packed. They needed only to say their goodbyes to their father.

_It was not even Mithfindl I thrashed._

Although the Noldo had received his beating, Aragorn realized that his ire was misplaced. Mithfindl had incited the Ranger's anger but it was much more than that which had fueled the odium required for Estel to have lost his temper so badly. The smoldering frustration of his helplessness in aiding Legolas, his comburent, unspent wrath for Kane, and the Ranger’s incendiary inability to keep the Wood-Elf from the potential harm of his father had blazed until Mithfindl, while not innocent, had become engulfed in the scorching mania that Aragorn felt for more than just the Noldo’s actions. The twins’ joy at his violence only made the Ranger feel more ashamed of himself.

 _I let my temper get the better of me,_ Aragorn decided, recalling in vivid detail his brief elation in pummeling Mithfindl. _I should not have acted so rashly. All of Imladris will know of this before the morning is over._ While he didn’t care if all in Rivendell knew of his temper, he would rather the incident had occurred as he planned – that is, without a brawl. Besides which, now the reason for his thrashing the Noldo would be gossiped about and more harm brought to Legolas’ reputation should Mithfindl provide a differing account of what had happened in the woods yesterday’s afternoon.

“Estel.” He looked up from his preoccupation of watching the beads of morning dew drying in the early sunlight. Elladan and Elrohir were observing him with worried frowns. “I know you had not wished for such a spectacle, but surely you realize your actions were worthy.”

“Taking an Elf by surprise and beating him bloody is hardly a worthy action.” A slight breeze blew through the garden – a cool zephyr that portended that the winter would not yield so easily to the spring’s vitality.

Elrohir leant forward so he could face Aragorn around Elladan, who sat between him and the Ranger on the stone bench. “I do believe he means that you have saved Mithfindl’s life, brother. If you hadn’t moved so quickly, I may have needed to tackle Elladan just to keep him from snapping Mithfindl’s neck.”

Laughing, the Ranger shoved Elladan, who in turn collided with Elrohir, which nearly pushed the younger Elf from his seat. “At least it would have saved me from another of Ada’s sermons.”

_Or from Legolas’ self-doubts._

With a snicker, Elrohir returned the shove, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain from Elladan, who received the brunt of his twin’s jostle, and resulted in the Ranger being forced from the bench. Elladan’s quick helping hand grabbed Estel’s tunic to keep him from falling to the ground. Snickers turned to peals of laughter as Elrohir jumped up to avoid his brothers’ retribution; the three siblings laughed heartily.

_The twins will provide a welcoming lenitive on this journey._

The Ranger picked up one of the smooth rocks of the garden’s path; he threw it playfully at Elrohir, who dodged the projectile easily. “Let us see to our horses, brothers, so that we may pass the time.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas expected Elrond to lead him to the seats in front of his desk but he pointed to a divan still deep within the library, instructing the laegel to sit while the elder Elf made his way to the door. The short reprieve from conversation allowed the laegel the time to ponder, _He mentions poison. Could this lunacy be some lingering effect of foul toxins?_

The Prince could hear the Noldo catch the attention of a passing servant to ask for tea and breakfast to be brought to them. It had not passed the laegel’s notice that his Minyatar did not appear pleased to learn that the laegel's ailment had started before the poisoning; what this meant he did not know.

“I have asked for a large assortment of refreshment. You were not at the evening meal last night so I assumed you were famished,” the Noldo stated upon his return, seating himself beside Legolas and positioning the pillows that lay against the wall so that he could recline against them comfortably. It mattered little if the Wood-Elf was hungry or not – Legolas knew he would be made to eat.

“Thank you. I am hungry, I think,” he prevaricated, but saying the words, which he thought to be a mild stretch of the truth, seemed to stimulate his appetite, and the Prince realized that he was famished, indeed. As if to emphasize the point, his stomach growled, which earned him another kind smile from the Elf whom Legolas thought of as a second father.

Picking up their conversation where they had left off, Elrond asked of the Prince, “Explain it to me, ion nin. Tell me of its progression.”

What ‘it’ was did not need explanation, and so, the laegel began to tell the Noldo the rest of what he knew of his marred flesh. “After the incident on the mountain, when I tore at it, I was relieved of the fear but I was still numb.” He looked to his elder, anticipating the same confused reaction as Estel had shown when Legolas had explained the feeling to him at the time of its occurrence. The Peredhel only nodded for Legolas to continue.

“Estel brought me from the numbness. He held me while I told him all of what had happened, as I had not yet told him of the first encounter, to which he was blessedly not a witness. I felt nothing from it afterward, not until I met the twins in the forest.” Shifting to find comfort in the long expanse and soft fabric on which he lounged, Legolas mimicked Elrond’s position such that they faced each other, with both sprawled against an armrest piled with cushions.

“Elrohir merely meant to surprise me; not knowing of what I endured, he pounced on me. I believed myself to be under attack once more and would have felled Elrohir with my arrow had not Elladan stopped me. The disgrace and anger I felt at my inability to control my emotions tormented me. Therefore, I tore at the scar once more out of fear, and I suppose to remind myself again I was safe and that the merchants were dead. Shortly thereafter, I confessed to Elladan and Elrohir of what had occurred in the hopes that my admission would restore what control I had. However, the remembrance only served to heighten my numbness.”

A knap on the door broke the Prince’s reverie. “Pardon me, Greenleaf,” Elrond beseeched, leaving the Wood-Elf alone with his thoughts yet again.

_I must seem mad to him._

The Elven Lord returned, followed by a servant with tea and a platter of fruit and bread. “Lay them here, please,” the Noldo asked, indicating the nearest table. When the servant left and the Peredhel had filled a dish, the Noldo handed the plate to Legolas and poured them both a cup of tea. “Continue.”

Legolas chewed thoughtfully on a piece of the freshly baked bread ere sipping his tea. What he would next tell his elder embarrassed him, though it was not of shame for his actions, but of with whom he had performed these actions – Elrond’s adopted son. Fortified with another sip of the savory tea, the Wood-Elf confessed, “I wished to bathe, as I was covered in Orc blood.” Elrond well remembered the laegel’s first telling of the events of his attacks and so did not need to ask of what Orcs he spoke. “But I could not feel the water. I gripped the scar to rid myself of the numbness. I could not feel clean. Estel found me, distraught and nude in the water.”

His blush returned at the thought of the pleasure he found in the Ranger’s company that night. “It was then that my numbness was eradicated, that I felt love and compassion from Estel, and that I gave myself to him as he to me.” The censure and condemnation he expected – at least that which he expected of his own father – was not forthcoming from the Elven Lord afore him.

Legolas popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. “I could feel him when I could feel nothing else. Long had I desired him, I see now. Perhaps my father’s wrath and my own doubts that Estel would return my affection stayed my divulging this to him. That night, however, when he was all I could feel, there was no denying my affection for him.”

Lost in his memories, the laegel stared through the Elven Lord, seeing that night from a perspective different from that with which he had felt it. Elrond prompted, “And you do not lament it?”

“Never,” Legolas replied without needing to think. “I love Estel. I came from my deadly sorrow only that he not be saddened by my departure.” Saying nothing to the contrary, Elrond’s silence encouraged the laegel to persist in his admission. “It was afterward that the scar spoke first. It told me that Estel had only sated the lust that observing my attack ignited. I did not believe it, for he told me he loved me, and I believed him. I ruptured the scar, denying its accusations, and it let me be for a while yet.”

Breaking another lump of the small loaf of bread the Peredhel had placed upon his plate, the laegel sated his hunger for a few moments more. “I decided that night that I would fade willingly should Estel no longer want me. Death is a kinder fate than living without him; this oath I will keep.” He anticipated Elrond to rail at him for making such a promise, but again Elrond only nodded in understanding. “The next morning, the twins were angered at our coupling. I believed them angry with me for seducing Estel and the scar confirmed my suppositions, though later I learnt it was their fear of my passing that angered Elladan and Elrohir towards Estel. It was during the journey home that I felt the scar as separate from me.”

His Minyatar sipped his tea. “How so?”

“I cannot explain it,” he evaded. “But when I told you what had happened, I did not wish for you to know of its utterances. I did not desire for you to believe me mad, also.”

Elrond placed his empty cup on the table. “I would that you had told me of this then,” the elder stated. “It may have saved you more sorrow.” Although Elrond spoke without reproach, Legolas found it hard to meet the Noldo’s gaze.

_I wish I had confessed this then, too. For then, perhaps, I would not need to tell you of my encounter with Mithfindl._

When the laegel remained silent, the Peredhel encouraged, “When did it next afflict you?”

Drawing from his memories, the Elf ran through the events of the last couple of days in his mind until he found the answer. “When my father’s letter was delivered to me. Instead of finding solace in its pain, I found it in Estel. I wanted to think only of him. And for a short while, the scar did not speak, nor did it ache.”

“Until you spoke to Kalin?”

The Prince was thrown momentarily at Elrond’s knowing this but realized that Kalin had likely told the Noldo of their conversation and of his reaction to hearing his sentry’s news. “Yes. He told me of my father’s judgment, that which his letter would never have included, since you were likely to read it.” At the mere memory, Legolas desired to rend his flesh, to tear at the polluted voice that haunted him, though it remained quiet. He whispered his story. “The pain was not enough and its influence was more damning, its words more hurtful. It sounded much like what my father would say to me – will say to me – when I return home. It brought with it fear and shame, which crashed down upon me until it was all I knew. I thought to remain numb so as not to feel my dread of returning to my father’s wrath, but the pain was better than the numbness, and the hateful voice was silenced by it. I practiced with the twins and Estel on the archery field, detached. I thought the fear came from the scar.”

The Peredhel frowned deeply, the normally undetectable lines in his ancient face deepening in his obvious worry at the laegel’s words concerning Thranduil. Although the Noldo wanted to ask of the Elf-King’s imminent judgment, he queried instead, “But the fear did not come from the scar?”

Legolas ran his hands over his face briskly after placing his half-full and forgotten plate on the table. “No, I suppose it did not, for when Estel touched me later, the numbness departed, the vile voice quieted, but the fear remained.” Like a bolt of lightning, sudden understanding hit the laegel, and he thought aloud, “The fear I must have truly felt.”

 _It came not from the scar, nor from Estel,_ the laegel decided in relief. His grief-borne madness was confusing enough to Legolas, much less having to explain it to his Minyatar. He found himself thinking through the situation for the first time by speaking it aloud.

“I fled. Not even the song of the forest could I hear. To flee from my dread and its malignant tyranny, I allowed myself to become as numb as possible, to escape. It was in this state that Mithfindl found me.” Elrond took the Wood-Elf’s cup, refilling it and pressing it into the Prince’s hands. After taking a sip of the soothing liquid, the laegel waited until the warmth of the tea spread through him, enjoying the cessation of the cold that seemed at home within him. He tensed, his mind forming the necessary words to tell the Peredhel of his meeting with the Noldorin warrior, but his mouth freezing in shame.

“Glorfindel has told me what he encountered, Greenleaf,” the Elven Lord pressed, settling back again against the cushions of the divan. “He said that he stumbled upon Mithfindl seemingly attacking you, although you denied this.”

“Mithfindl did attack me but I did not fight him off – not at first. By chance, he happened to irritate my marred thigh. It relieved me from the disparagement of the scar, so I let him continue.” Pulling a cushion to his chest, the laegel’s hands found a knotted thread that had loosened from the pillow. He twisted the tangled string around his finger.

“When Lord Glorfindel came upon us my conscience had already taken hold and I attempted to escape. Had it not been for the twins asking Lord Glorfindel to help look for me, I do not believe I could have avoided Mithfindl’s advances.” He worried the thread, tugging it roughly from the cushion while it was still round his finger, until it pulled free.

The elder ruminated briefly on this new addition to the Prince’s suffering. “Is this the last incident?”

“No. After I spoke with you yesterday, it told me that I was weak. That your, the twins’, and even Estel’s aid was merely the evidence of my weakness. I fell asleep in the garden listening to its criticism.” Legolas took the string in hand, rolling it between his finger and thumb into a tight ball before flattening it out again. “When I woke early this morning, it was as if nothing had happened. I felt as myself, without worry or fear or pain. That soon departed, for I could not help but to remember. I found Estel in my rooms, asleep. He begged me to tell him of what ailed me; and so, I told him, but the scar began anew, this time more forcefully and despite the fact that Estel held me. It was not until he reasoned against its utterances did it depart.”

If Elrond found this strange tale odd, he took it all in without giving any hint of his disbelief. Curious, the Peredhel asked the Wood-Elf, “What did Estel say to break its hold over your mind?”

Smiling at the memory, Legolas picked at the knot on the strand absently and responded, “It told me I was mad for my abnormal actions and weak for needing others, that all of you believed me to be so. Estel asked me if I would think him insane should the same evil have been inflicted upon him, should he have acted as peculiarly as I am acting. He asked me if I would think him weak should he need me under the same circumstances.” The laegel laid the untangled thread across his palm before abruptly blowing it from his hand. The wisp wafted lazily in the air for a mere moment until it drifted past Elrond’s shoulder, beyond his ability to see. “I could not deny his reasoning, for I would hold neither against him, and so the vicious taunts ceased. I have not heard them since.”

The story lay unraveled; the sordid account was no longer hidden from his compassionate elder. They sat in silence with the Noldo thinking while Legolas reclined, enjoying the removal of the encumbrance that he had thought his to endure alone. “What can I do? Is there not some cure for this?”

Elrond shook his head. “I do not know.”

 _It appears none can help me._ Surprised, he blinked his eyes against the bitter, hopeless tears that formed quickly behind his lids. “But why did you ask of the poison? I held some hope that it may explain this lingering malformation.”

“I have searched through these many tomes, Legolas, to find whatever poison may have been used on you. Many substances exist that can evoke lust where it does not lie and any of these could have been used against you. None that I know of, however, has any lasting effects – at least, not unless the poison is continuously given, which in your case is not true. At first, I thought to blame your malaise, the effect of the scar, as some aftereffect of the poison. It may be that the unwanted pleasure you found at the merchants’ torment has had some effect on you, but it is not the source of the problem.” Elrond paused and reached out to take the laegel’s hand from its position on Legolas’ knee; he held it in both of his own kind, healing hands. “I’ve no explanation for the influence that this scar seems to hold over you, except that according to your account, this mar you bear is no foreign essence.”

 _I am the cause for his relentless research, then._ Hanging his head in shame, the laegel concluded, “Then it _is_ madness.”

The Peredhel squeezed the young Silvan’s hand. “Not madness, Greenleaf. I admit that I know more of Elven grief than most, but Celebrian held no such misfortune as yours, though her heart was heavy with the toil of living in these oft-terrible times. She sought solace in Valinor. Other Elves do not endure their grief and pass from Arda to reside with Námo.” Releasing his hold of Legolas’ limb, the Elven Lord picked up his teacup to stare into the empty vessel with a longing the Prince did not understand. Shaking his head as though to rid himself of his thoughts, the Noldo then sighed. “While I do not know what ails you, I know this – you will serve a greater purpose in Middle Earth than most ever will. Not all hope is lost. Let Estel be your salvation, as you will one day be his.”

Mesmerized and befuddled by Elrond's words, the laegel asked, “How is this so?”

“The future I cannot portend and the present is complex,” the elder eluded. The Peredhel took a deep breath, holding the cool morning air in before he began, “From what you have told me, it would seem that you have cleaved from that which caused you grief so that you could remain by Estel’s side. If it is as you say and his touch dispels the hate within you, then his love does this. It would explain why you did not react the same to Mithfindl’s touch.”

Elrond sighed again, shaking his head once more at the futility of explaining to the laegel that which he didn’t entirely understand, either. “I believe that the scar is a part of you. It cannot be gouged away or forgotten. The fear and odium it holds are yours. You have avoided facing your grief so that you could live, but your grief remains unresolved. To rid yourself of the scar, you must rid yourself of these fears. But do not rely on Estel to liberate you from its influence. He is no more its solution than the pain you inflict upon yourself, though I imagine his diversionary tactics to stifle it may be healthier and no doubt more pleasing.”

Blushing again, the laegel returned the perceptive smile Elrond held. The Noldorin Lord had told him little that Legolas had not already deciphered in regards to his disconnection, but that the scar was a physical manifestation of this frightened him.

The Elf Lord turned suddenly serious.“The voice is becoming more insistent because you are soon to face one part of your fear, your father, but it may also indicate that you cannot detach from your grief any longer. Its influence will grow until it consumes you, Legolas, if you do not confront it.” The morning sun sat higher in the cloudy sky, its brilliance no longer as visible in the window over their heads. “Do not despair. You have survived but that does not mean your trial is over. Your grief remains, but you are stronger than you think, and this scar will heal.”

He wished he could believe his Minyatar’s words. _The scar will have to heal or I will fade_. Another knock at the door broke their mutual preoccupation.


	26. Chapter 26

“Lords Elrohir and Elladan, Estel, good morning,” Kalin hailed as he entered the long hall of stables in which the twins and Ranger were caring for their horses. The sentry stopped short of the three stalls in which the brothers’ steeds were stabled side by side and looked around him in alarm. “The Prince is not with you?”

Giving his horse’s tawny coat a final swipe with the brush, Elladan stepped from the open booth to address the sentry and tossed the brush into a bin fastened to the wall of the aisle. “Good morning, Kalin, though we’ve seen you much of this morning already,” the twin joked. Estel listened distractedly to the conversation as he cared for his horse, his attention wandering, as his mind was still drained and vacant from the spent indignation of his earlier fight with Mithfindl. “No, Kalin, Legolas is not here. He is with our Ada. Do not worry.”

The sentry muttered something under his breath too low for the Ranger to catch, though Elrohir and Elladan both laughed at what was said, and Elrohir replied, “That may be true. Legolas has always been a rascal. More times than I care to count your Prince has been the brains behind some mischief for which Elladan and I were punished.”

 _That is a blatant lie,_ Estel thought to himself, turning his ear to the conversation to hear what new tale his brothers would persuade another unsuspecting listener to be true. He smiled. _I may not have been around as long as have they, but from my memory, it was Elrohir who usually plotted and Elladan who convinced Legolas to go along with their schemes._

“Do you remember the time, dear brother, when Legolas threw Estel into the river to teach him how to swim? I believe that was the first time that your Prince met our young, impressionable brother,” Elladan claimed to Kalin.

“Yes, yes. Estel was only ten or so, in human years, that is.” Sighing in mock nostalgia, Elrohir fibbed, “Legolas is quite the evil taskmaster. We taught Estel how to swim in the shallows, but your Prince insisted that he learn to brave the rapids.”

Elladan continued the farce with an absurdly solemn face and a tone to match, “Threw him in is what he did – and without warning. We had to fish our little brother out of the frigid water while Legolas laughed on the banks.”

The scene the twins depicted with their distortion of the past caused the Ranger to snort, though it was because of the recollection of a half-naked Prince, rolling with laughter on the banks of a small pond while Aragorn sputtered in the cold water. _It has only been little over a fortnight since then,_ the Ranger wondered, in awe of how quickly Legolas’ life had changed and how his own was altered because of it.

“Regrettable,” Kalin replied in a similarly reprehensive manner, a quality that reminded the Ranger that the fair sentry had also been around the twins and Legolas much longer than he had, and he likely already knew the true story behind his and the Prince’s first encounter. Kalin had accompanied his Prince to the valley that summer, the Ranger remembered.

_If all of this seems quick to me, then I am sure that to Legolas his world turning upside down has been but a passing moment, albeit a horrific one._

“If I remember correctly,” the sentry added facetiously to Elladan, “it was you and Lord Elrohir who received a lecture that night for your lack of caution in tending your brother. But I suppose this was a sermon well-earned since you allowed my trouble-making Prince around the gullible human.”

The twins laughed heartily at Kalin’s teasing concurrence of their tale. Elladan slapped the sentry companionably on the back, saying, “That may be true, also.”

“And if _I_ remember correctly,” Estel corrected as he exited his steed’s stall, “it was two naughty Noldor who threw me into the river and it was Legolas who dragged me from it, though I fought him the whole time in fear.” Elladan and Elrohir’s eyes widened in counterfeit hurt while Kalin smiled knowingly. “As I recollect the event, I had only that morning met Legolas or any Wood-Elf, for that matter, and two conspiring fools convinced me into believing that the Wood-Elves used young human boys for their magic. If I was gullible, it was only in that I trusted my two brothers – a lesson I learnt by my almost drowning.”

For a few moments more, the twins maintained their offended demeanor, but their natural joviality got the better of them and they laughed with Aragorn and Kalin until a call from the end of the corridor roused them.

“Excuse me, my Lords,” a young Elfling interrupted, running towards them. When he reached where the four stood, he bowed to the Noldorin twins before he warned them, a nervous smile on his face, “Lord Glorfindel has sent me to find you and I was told by some passersby that you were here.” Immediately, the Ranger and his brothers were on guard. Only Kalin seemed oblivious to the apprehension of his companions. “He sends word that Raveara is informing Lord Elrond of an incident occurring earlier this morning on the training fields. He wished you to be ready to meet with Lord Elrond.” The Elfling – barely old enough to be dressed in the leather garb he wore, a protection for warriors only beginning their training – shifted from foot to foot impatiently as he awaited instruction or dismissal.

 _It couldn’t be avoided,_ Estel told himself, glancing at his brothers, who only beamed at him in anxious amusement. Kalin turned away in respect for the news that presumably did not concern him.

The Ranger knew he would receive the lecture from his father and so answered the youngling, who was still much older than he was in years if not in maturity. “Thank you. We will go to him.” The Elfling took off.

“Kind of Glorfindel to warn us,” Elladan stated dryly. “He must know of Mithfindl’s attack on Greenleaf.”

At the mention of his Prince, Kalin ceased his polite inspection of the carved stone pillars that held the stable roof aloft and returned his attention to the Noldorin Lords and Estel. He said nothing, but the devoted concern he felt for his friend was apparent in his drawn countenance.

_If only Legolas knew how much we all loved him._

“I am certain the two of you can both be spared this meeting, brothers,” the Ranger told the twins with a resigned sigh. “Perhaps you could explain to Kalin the newest of Legolas’ miseries while I see what Raveara is telling father.” In response to Elladan and Elrohir’s identical inquisitiveness, Aragorn explained, “Tell Kalin what you know. The more informed allies Greenleaf has the better.” With this, he left the stables hurriedly, making his way back to the Last Homely House.

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The laegel tried to hide his amused grin; the instructor glanced at him occasionally as he told his account of how Estel had attacked Mithfindl and Legolas did not want Raveara to think he approved of the violence with which the Ranger had battered Mithfindl. When the tale was over, Lord Elrond merely shook his head, saying, “Do not worry, Raveara, Estel is leaving for Mirkwood in a few hours, as are the twins, so your lessons will not be disturbed again.”

The instructor did not appear pacified; he huffed, “But Lord Elrond, your sons were unwarranted in their assault upon Mithfindl, who has assured me he did nothing to provoke them. His nose is broken! Will you not punish them?”

In a split second, the leader of Imladris went from a passive, conciliatory Elf to the Noldorin Lord he was, despite his worn lounging robes and untamed hair, dusty like his robes from searching through the massive collection of books and scrolls he kept. The Peredhel stood from behind his desk, seemingly towering over the now cringing instructor, though the two were the same height. “I suggest you speak with Lord Glorfindel of the veracity of Mithfindl’s statements and I can assure you, Raveara, that Mithfindl did much to incite my sons’ wrath. They do not act without provocation,” the Elven Lord retorted in a hushed, ominous voice. “Thank you for your concern.”

The chastised warrior promptly made to walk from the room, his dismissal obvious.

When the knock on the door had interrupted Legolas and Elrond’s conversation earlier, the laegel had followed his Minyatar from the depths of the study's personal library. He had planned to give his thanks and then take his leave. The morning was already nearly over and the Prince needed to gather his things before the noon meal ended. When Lord Elrond opened the door to a fuming Raveara, the Prince had decided to stay to hear his story, especially when the first utterance from the instructor’s mouth had been ‘Estel.’ Raveara clearly did not know why the twins and Ranger confronted Mithfindl and Legolas was glad that the Peredhel had not offered this information.

“Well,” the healer stated as he dropped back into his seat, “this has been a full morning for everyone, it would seem.”

Legolas finally allowed his amused smile to surface. “It has. Thank you for speaking with me but I must prepare to leave.” He rose from his chair.

“Wait. You will not leave Imladris without your thigh wound tended,” his Minyatar warned, shaking a long, stern finger at the Prince.

Standing before the large desk behind which the Noldo sat, the laegel promised, “I’ll let Estel see to it.”

“You are not angered with him for what mischief he, Elladan, and Elrohir have created this morning?” his inquisitive Minyatar asked him.

“It is as you say – your sons do not act without reason and I believe this time I know their reasons.” Raising one elegant eyebrow, the Noldo questioned what the Prince believed the reasons to be, and so the laegel answered, “As peculiar as it may seem, they did it because they worry for me.”

The Peredhel made his way around the desk and quickly enveloped the Prince in a hug, pulling the young Elf to him tightly. “Perhaps in part that is true. They love you Legolas. That is why they did it.” The Prince lingered in the encouraging embrace, his sorrow returning somewhat in the comfort he found there, for he knew there would be little such paternal comfort in the Greenwood. “I suppose I will let _you_ punish Estel for his justifiable, if childish response to Mithfindl.”

Legolas laughed a harmonious, lighthearted articulation of his relieved burden and his newfound hope for his recovery. “Yes, I am sure I can find a most torturous way to discipline him, though I suppose that he is too old for a whipping.” Elrond’s lips curled suggestively as he leant back to gaze thoughtfully at the Prince, his ancient face lit with an understanding that made the laegel realize the unintentional innuendo behind his otherwise innocent words.

He blushed as the Elven Lord laughed, and then laughed at himself. _How it is still in me to flush given that Elrond knows more of me than anyone but Estel, I do not know._

“I bet you can,” Lord Elrond affirmed, letting loose the Wood-Elf, who loosened his hold of the Noldo reluctantly; however, the elder Elf placed his hands on Legolas’ shoulders, brushing his long hair off them. “Now, go see to your departure.”

The Prince did just that – he left the study, leaving behind his worries and fear in exchange for a brief interlude of contentment. _This is not over,_ he warned himself as he nearly leapt down the stairs to the family’s floor of rooms. Too many times before, he had felt cured only to fall back into despondency. Each time he was less sure he could climb from the cold void of estrangement and disaffection. _It is not over,_ the laegel decided, _but I will enjoy this interim optimism._ He turned the corner to make his way to his rooms, lost in his thoughts and barely aware of his surroundings, much less the rushed Ranger who ran into him. Unbalanced and stunned, Legolas stumbled backwards.

For his part, the Ranger had avoided knocking the Prince over or falling himself. “Sweet Eru,” Aragorn exclaimed, striding to the laegel and looking him over. “You are not hurt? I am sorry, Legolas, I was too intent on seeing father to see you.”

Legolas smiled wickedly, “I am unhurt.” The Ranger looked him over again in confusion, this time paying particular attention to the Wood-Elf’s lightened demeanor. “And you’ve no need to see Lord Elrond. He has given me leave to see to your atonement.”

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The Ranger asked, bewildered, “Atonement?”

“Yes, Master Human,” the laegel replied deliberately, as though talking to a dimwitted youngster. “Lord Elrond does not wish to see you, but for you to see me. Come.”

Estel followed the Wood-Elf obediently down the hallway from which the Ranger had just sprinted, towards where the Ranger and Silvan’s room sat across the hall from each other. Legolas hummed lightly a song that Aragorn recognized but could not place. _He is certainly in good spirits,_ the Ranger mused, admiring his lover’s svelte form as he walked before him. _Surely, he has spoken to Ada of what ails him._

“Greenleaf –”

The Wood-Elf only began to hum louder, until he was nearly singing, and thereby ignored the Ranger’s attempt to catch his attention. Aragorn grinned. _This is the Legolas I knew before,_ the human mused.

He did not try to speak to the Elf again. He would not question Legolas’ blithesome attitude. This lapse into cheerfulness was welcomed by the Ranger, who found his lover’s joyfulness contagious, and so instead pondered on the vague allusion the Elf gave him about atonement. _He does not seem angry. It cannot be that he is eager to leave for home._ That the Elf knew of his confrontation with Mithfindl was evident. The human did not anticipate whatever argument would ensue. That the Elf had spoken with Lord Elrond and that the healer did not want to see him, but had instead deferred him to Legolas, made the Ranger uneasy, regardless of his lover’s good mood. _I may be in for more than a mere sermon._

The pair reached the Prince’s permanent quarters in Imladris. Legolas stopped walking, pausing before the door with his hand on the knob. “Estel.”

“Yes?”

With his back to the human, the Elf asked, “Did you truly break Mithfindl’s nose?”

“Yes,” he replied simply. Legolas did not respond, but opened the door, walking through it and immediately to the trunk at the end of his bed, which he opened to rifle through his possessions, leaving Estel to stand in the hallway, more confused than before.

Eventually, he entered the room, closed the door behind him, and sat on the bed to watch a stoic Legolas throw tunics and leggings onto the spread beside him. Without being asked, Aragorn helped the Prince pack by rolling the clothes tightly and pushing them into the Elf’s satchel. They worked wordlessly. Estel became tenser at the prolonged silence. Soon, the last article of clothing was safely ensconced within the bag and the Prince’s brush and other toiletries packed away. Legolas buckled the satchel closed and then threw it on the floor by his bow and quiver. He sat where the bag had sat, close to the Ranger. He kept his head down, not looking at Aragorn.

When the stillness became more than Estel could withstand, he queried, “Did you speak to Ada?”

“I did.”

The short answer did not inspire further conversation though the human tried regardless. “What did he say?”

“He said much. We will talk of it later.”

Frustrated, Aragorn asked, “Can we not speak of it now? We’ve time before midday and you do not appear overly busy.”

Finally, the Elf raised his flaxen head; Aragorn was relieved to note that the Prince was again smiling. “No, we cannot speak of it now… and I _am_ busy. I am trying to find a suitable punishment for your childish behavior.”

His smile wide and his cobalt blue eyes suddenly alight with impishness, Legolas flew at the Ranger, startling Aragorn, who was unprepared for the tangle of arms and the solid chest that knocked him to his side on the bed. Aragorn knew the Wood-Elf wouldn’t hurt him, so he did not struggle when Legolas seized his arms, pulling them over his head while crawling to straddle the Ranger’s hip. Hovering over him, the fair Prince grinned at Estel. The Ranger could only grin in response to see the Elf’s mirth, despite the discomfort of having his body twisted so, for his legs remained off the bed as though he were sitting, while his back lay fully against the mattress, and the light Elf was perched on his hip.

He asked with grave resignation, “I assume you have thought of a suitable punishment?”

Legolas did not reply, but leant down to place his face close to the Ranger's, his long hair falling around their heads in a golden curtain to block the room from both their sights. When the Elf still only stared at him, grinning fiendishly, the Ranger squirmed, but the Prince tightened the grip of his thighs to keep the human from moving.

“Be still. I have thought of a fitting punishment, yes.” The Elf moved his mouth over the Ranger’s face, touching Aragorn with naught but his hot, sweet breath. This alone caused the Ranger to wriggle again under his lover in pleasure and elicited a reprimanding look from Legolas. “I told Lord Elrond you were too old for a whipping. Do not prove me wrong.”

Aragorn laughed, “Too old for a whipping? You cannot be serious. You are many years my senior. In comparison, I am barely born.”

“Are you calling me old?”

The Ranger laughed again, though this time, he also wormed under his lover and made a show of trying to pull his wrists free from Legolas’ grasp, thoroughly enjoying the Elf’s levity. “Not old, Legolas, but ancient. You are older than many trees. Older than the dirt. You, my love, are older than the –”

As though to quiet the facetious, rambling Ranger, Legolas claimed Aragorn’s open mouth, silencing the human as he pressed his lips roughly against his lover’s lips. Legolas kissed the human voraciously, his lithesome tongue sliding across Estel’s, and his grip loosening on the Ranger’s wrists. Although the Elf held his arms still, the Ranger tried to free himself again, but the breathless Prince tightened his hold once more, breaking their kiss to chastise, “Be still.”

His exasperation grew, for it was difficult to keep from moving when he longed to touch the Wood-Elf astride him. Estel complained, “I am hardly able to keep from moving in this position.” With a snigger, the Wood-Elf rolled his eyes and lifted his rear from the Ranger’s hip, leaving the Adan enough room to swing his legs onto the bed so that he lay comfortably on his back. His wrists were still held tight. “If you are punishing my childishness –” he started to argue, but let out a muffled grunt when the Prince reseated himself, this time directly atop the Ranger’s groin.

The engaging pressure of his lover’s flesh weighing upon his quickly rising member stole the Ranger’s thoughts until a delighted Legolas prompted at his lover’s reaction, “If I am punishing your childishness?” The Elf leant forward, his rear sliding lewdly across the Ranger’s hardness as he nuzzled into Aragorn’s neck, laving his whiskered skin with his tongue.

The Adan asked himself, _What was I talking about?_

Without ceasing his attentions, Legolas whispered, “Estel?”

He coughed, clearing his throat. “If you are punishing my childishness, then you must know that it is the twins who influenced me into behaving thusly.”

The Prince sat up, pulling away from Aragorn to say, “I see. Then I shall need to punish the twins instead.” He hopped off the Ranger, leaving an aroused, bewildered Estel to stare after the laegel.

“Greenleaf!”

The Elf laughed warmly in apparent enjoyment of the human’s predicament, while Aragorn pretended to fume at the thought of his lover performing the same punishment on his twin brothers. Rolling from the bed, the Ranger sat, catching the Elf by the waist to yank him back onto his lap.

“I don’t think so, lest you desire for me to treat Elladan and Elrohir with the same care as I did Mithfindl.” Legolas’ musical laughter was the reaction the Ranger had hoped for; he wound his arms tightly around the Wood-Elf, hugging the Silvan to him and laying his head on the Prince’s graceful back.

 _This happiness will not last,_ he worried but refused to ponder on the thought. Instead, he focused on the charming smell of Legolas’ long hair.

“I would not have you break your brothers’ noses. You would never be able to break one of their noses in the same fashion as the other.” The Wood-Elf leant back contentedly against Estel. “Then unsuspecting she-Elves will be able to tell them apart, ruining their entire lives.” Chuckling, the Ranger only tightened his embrace of the laegel to revel in the sensation of his nearness. They were silent for a while, though the quiet was comfortable, with each lost in his own thoughts, when Legolas suddenly sighed, saying, “Here they come now.”

Moments later, a knock upon the door disrupted the Ranger’s enjoyment.

“Legolas, Estel?” Elladan knocked again, calling out impatiently with a bit of mischief in his voice, “Are you decent?”

“Yes, yes, come in,” the Prince called out, making no move to leave his seat on the Ranger’s lap.

Elrohir responded, not entering, “Ada wishes us all to have lunch on the terrace of his study. Meet us there.”

_How kind of them to interrupt._

“We will.” Aragorn released the Prince grudgingly, who stood, as did the human. He turned to his lover. “What of my punishment?” His arousal had not ceased and his desire to have the Wood-Elf was not discouraged.

With a smile, the Prince replied, “I suppose your punishment will have to wait. We must see your father before we leave. Mayhap when we are in the wilds.” Legolas placed his hands on the Ranger’s chest, sliding them down, over Estel’s firm stomach and to his hips. “Until then, this will have to be punishment enough,” he jested, his hands traveling across the taut cloth above the human’s shaft. Had not the Wood-Elf shown signs of his own arousal, Aragorn may have been sore at being left in such a state, but he only swatted at the Elf’s roving hands.

“Then let us go to Ada,” he declared, thinking, _I have never before looked forward to being in the wilderness this much._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The noon meal with Elrond was uneventful. Just as Legolas had expected, the Elven Lord instructed his sons to mind their manners, to be careful, that they represented Imladris, and that they should therefore act with the utmost dignity. Legolas had a difficult time in maintaining his attention on Elrond's words, for Aragorn stared at him from across the small table the whole meal, the Ranger’s hunger obviously not for the food he ate perfunctorily. The taste of the human lingered on the Elf’s lips, a flavor unsurpassed by the delectable food he ingested that tasted as ash in comparison.

“…I doubt that is necessary. The Silvan will be carrying enough for all of us, right, Greenleaf?”

Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond looked to him expectantly, and the Prince found he knew not of what they spoke. “I am sure that is true,” he muttered. The twins and their father renewed their conversation, while the laegel stifled a sigh of relief and tore another piece of bread to shreds.

 _It is well that my sentries are accompanying us. If I can hardly pay attention to a simple conversation, how could I be on guard during travel?_ An elbow to his side caused the Prince to start.

“I said, the hour grows late and your sentries are already amassed in the courtyard. Perhaps we should see to our departure.” Elrohir pointed to the railing and Legolas looked over it, confirming that his sentries were prepared and waiting. He could see his head guard, Kalin, walking amongst them, inspecting the seasoned warriors.

His reluctance to depart returned but he agreed dolefully, “So it would seem.” Legolas sipped his water once more and stood.

“I will see you off.” The Peredhel led the silent procession of Elves and human through the Last Homely House to the courtyard.

 _I must remember this place._ The Wood-Elf examined every nook and alcove they passed, memorizing the details of his second home. _Just in case I do not come back,_ he thought, feeling immensely melancholy that he should have to leave. Casting a quick glance at the Ranger, the Prince found the human watching him, smiling mysteriously.

The sullen Prince grinned, bumping his arm into his lover’s arm. “Are you besotted, Estel?”

Continuing to smile secretively, the Ranger said nothing but seized the laegel’s hand, giving it a knowing squeeze as they walked down the steps into the courtyard, before letting him go to tend his horse.

“Prince Legolas,” Kalin hailed, and five Mirkwood sentries turned at the call, bowing in respectful acknowledgment of their King’s son, their friend and companion warrior, and to the Elven Lords of Imladris.

Kalin walked to the Prince; a dappled grey mount followed him, one that the Elf recognized. The horse recognized his master, also, and nudged the sentry none too gently from the way to reach Legolas. He reached out, petting his faithful steed’s nose, an act that earned him an appreciative nicker.

_Arato. It will be good to ride my own mount._

“We are ready, my Prince, when you are," the sentry told Legolas. The laegel's possessions, slight as they were, had been tied to his horse, and the twins and Aragorn’s satchels and weapons had been retrieved by the stable hands, as well.

Legolas was amazed that his father had been so sure to find him in Imladris; he queried Kalin, “You brought Arato?”

A nearby sentry, Oiolaire, answered him with a snicker and a wary glance at the outwardly docile horse. “We could hardly leave him. He overheard us talking about the journey here to find you. He wouldn’t be convinced to stay, once he heard us say your name. When Kalin told him he could not come, he began to kick the doors. We feared he would break a leg, so decided to bring him instead.”

The Elf beamed, seeing the veracity of Oiolaire’s statement in the annoyed toss of his horse’s head. His sentries were climbing atop their own mounts, while across the courtyard his Minyatar was fussing over the twins and Aragorn, giving them last minute instructions that Legolas was sure the trio had heard many times before, especially Elladan and Elrohir, who despite their numerous years and time spent in danger, were but children to their father. Taking his quiver from his horse, he strapped it around his chest, discomforted by the reminder of his encounter with Mithfindl when the sturdy quiver chafed the deep bruise on his back.

 _Now that I know what ails me, I can fend it,_ he thought of the hushed scar.He did not know what lay in wait for him in Mirkwood, but his father’s wrath portended that his hopeful thoughts were illusory.

“Greenleaf?” Elrond was beside him, his kind face concerned. “Are you certain this is the best course?” The Elven Lord did not say that he did not want the Prince to leave but his reservations were clear nevertheless.

Although he tried not to let his resignation taint his goodbye to his Minyatar, he failed as he told the elder Elf, “It is the _only_ course.”

The Noldo appeared as though he might argue; instead, he drew the laegel to him, enclosing him in a tight embrace. “Come back to us.”

“I will, Minyatar,” he whispered. Unwillingly, he withdrew from the elder, noting that all were ready for their journey save for him. With the agility of one wont to scaling trees, the Elf vaulted onto his horse with ease.

The Peredhel stood upon the steps, sweeping his fisted hand from his chest as he called, “Farewell, friends. Until next we meet, may you remain safe and joyful. And keep my sons out of trouble, please.” The Mirkwood sentries chuckled, calling out respectful responses to the Elven Lord of the Last Homely House. “Farewell, Greenleaf. Be safe.”

The convoy of horses, Elves, and Ranger ambled through the courtyard's entrance, on their way to Mirkwood. Aragorn waited until Legolas approached so that they could ride beside each other. The Wood-Elf promised, glancing back once more to the waving Elrond, _I will come home to Imladris one day. I will return._


	27. Chapter 27

The afternoon was spent in amicable conversation. The band of Elves and Ranger had not yet passed far from the outlying borders of Imladris; they knew they were safe still and so were not disposed to their normal reticence and vigilance to their surroundings. Unhurriedly, they drifted along the well-worn path to the High Pass. The last remnants of the snow were gone, having been washed away by the previous night’s storm, but the chilly quiddity of the winter still dawdled and made its presence known by the occasional, shrill gust of cold air that blew through the boughs of the forest around them. Aragorn tugged his overcoat’s hood over his head to block both the sound and the breeze from his ears.

The Mirkwood guards, the Ranger noted, seemed hesitant to seek out their Prince for conversation. Having traveled with many of these Elves as he journeyed with Legolas and knowing them as well as a human could an Elf many years his senior, Aragorn saw that the Wood-Elves were unsure how to approach their Prince.

 _Few Elves survive defilement, much less two separate instances of it. It is no wonder they treat him as though he were an oddity,_ the Adan thought with a dolorous frown.

Occasionally, one of the guards would look to his Prince with concern, as though the laegel were on the verge of breaking, as if his faer would shatter before their eyes if they did not remain alert. If the Prince noticed his guards concern, he did not show it, but continued his easy bantering with the twins.

The merry laughter of the Silvan Elves around him lulled Aragorn into a restful state; he allowed it to, for he knew that at least one of the Wood-Elves would sense danger long before he would – or his brothers for that matter, who had not the profound connection with the forest, as did the Silvan. Legolas was happily quarrelling with the twins about their inaccurate recollection of an exploit they had been involved in as Elflings. He did not know the story but found it difficult to listen; for too many nights, he had not slept well, and if he had slept, it had been from exhaustion and without peace. As accustomed to little sleep and harsh conditions as the Ranger was, he had reached his limit and desired nothing more than to close his eyes.

 _Stay awake,_ he chided himself. _No point in giving my brothers more fodder for their insatiable appetite for my humiliation._

When Aragorn’s eyes slid shut, his body growing limp and heavy, it was Legolas’ cheerful cachinnation that caused his lids to fly open, with his awareness returning abruptly. Removing his hood, the Ranger noted that the sun was slipping down the sky into sunset, not far from where it had laid when he dozed off. He glanced at the Prince beside him while appreciatively patting the neck of his horse. Aragorn knew that it was his mount’s even gait and perceptivity to his rider’s state that had kept him from falling from his seat.

“Did you have a restful nap?”

The teasing laegel’s shrewd question threw the Ranger, as he had hoped no one had noticed his lethargy. “I did,” Aragorn admitted, giving his lover a sheepish grin, “though I could not have slept for long. I am more tired than I am willing to admit.”

A brief flash of remorse lit the Prince’s fair features. “No, you have only just drowsed off. It is almost eve; we will stop soon. None of us are in a hurry to reach home.”

“I have just rested; I need no more. I’ll not have us stopping on my account, not when we have yet to even reach the mountains.” He would not slow them down, as much as he might wish to do so to avoid arriving in Mirkwood.

From where he rode with his twin, slightly in front of the Prince and Ranger, Elladan teased, “A scout sent ahead has reported Orc tracks. We’ve no wish to attract their attention unless necessary and certainly not in the middle of the night.” The statement was entirely unlike the twins, who from experience Aragorn knew would prefer to charge headfirst into the throng of Orcs. “We had planned to stop long before realizing you snored in the saddle.”

His brothers laughed and trotted ahead of them, their amusement at his expense not bothering the Ranger in the least, as he was often the topic of their laughter; and so, he ignored them, choosing instead to examine Legolas’ well-being. The fair Silvan was sitting straight and proud on the back of his horse, his hair braided perfectly, his weapons glossed and at ready. If one did not know Legolas, one would think the Prince to be healthy. However, the Elf was nearly swallowed by the tunic that once fit him well; his lean frame was now thinned such that below the dark circles under his eyes, his high cheekbones stood out too prominently in his pale face. To one who did not know Legolas, the laegel was merely exhibiting caution of his surroundings when his head would whip round to the slightest sound in the forest, noises that Aragorn could not hear.

To Estel, however, the Wood-Elf appeared weary, vulnerable, and anxious.

Legolas caught the Ranger staring at him. “I am glad you are rested, Estel. You will need your strength tonight. Your punishment was truncated this morning by our departure.”

His mood suddenly brightened by the laegel’s allusion to their morning activities, Aragorn complained, “I doubt your sentries will let you stray far.”

“Then I will just have to order them. Don’t try to weasel your way out of this atonement,” the laegel warned in a cool voice, though his face was warm with affection.

The Ranger laughed in anticipation, his mind concocting various scenarios of what the Elf might mean by atonement. “I am not sure that I wish to weasel my out it. I find myself most contrite and most willing to accept whatever punishment you have in mind.”

Legolas smiled suggestively – a sight that Estel had never before seen upon the Silvan’s features until recently and thought he would never grow tired of – and then returned his attention to the forest around him, while Aragorn found himself wondering again how anyone could want to harm the pure, graceful Elf.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No sooner had the sun finally slipped away, leaving only the dim light of the moon to guide the wayfarers along the path, than Kalin called the party to a halt, hopped off his horse, and began giving orders to his underlings as to their duties for the night. Eagerly dismounting his own steed, Legolas rubbed Arato’s nose tenderly before letting one of his sentries lead him away to where the other horses were already grazing. The laegel was rarely allowed any duties while with his sentries, for they cosseted him indulgently and would take over any task to which he set himself. Even on patrol, they acted thusly, though it was not from their disbelief in his abilities as a warrior but their fear of Thranduil’s wrath should ill befall their Prince.

This pampering was one reason that he enjoyed roaming the wilds with Aragorn or the twins, as the Ranger and Noldor expected him to do his share. For once, though, the laegel was grateful that nothing was asked of him. He settled against a trunk beside the twins and Aragorn to watch the business of his brethren. Being the sons of Lord Elrond, none of Imladris’ three progeny were allowed to pull their fair share, either, and so sat lazily watching the activity, as well.

No fire was lit and no food cooked. Even while in other lands, the Silvan followed the habits of traversing the dark forest in which they lived. None of the Wood-Elves spread bedrolls or made themselves comfortable just yet. Their beds would be the tree limbs above them, the fire was unnecessary for they did not feel the frigid breeze, and their comfort was forsaken in favor of conscientiousness to the safekeeping of their Prince. For dinner, the sentries passed around salt cured venison and a flask of undiluted wine, both of which the Elf recognized the taste of, as both were from his father’s stores. It was meager fare but suitable enough for now. Once off the mountains, they might hunt for fresh game, for then they could light a fire without fear of attracting unwanted guests.

He noticed his guards’ wariness of him. It saddened Legolas to see that he was marked – branded as an outsider even amongst his own kind for his tribulations. _I am no exile. It is only that I still live, when I should have died,_ he inferred from their worried stares. _They do not know how to treat me._ Nevertheless, these thoughts did not serve to draw him from his slow descent into melancholy, but only portended an enduring struggle to recoup what was lost – normalcy, or at least, what had passed for normal prior to recent events.

“Well, Greenleaf, I can see why you have never learnt to cook properly,” Elrohir teased good-naturedly, choosing a chunk of the tough deer meat for his supper, ere passing the pouch on to his twin. “It seems you never had the proper instruction.”

Despite himself, the laegel smirked, his mind eagerly drawn away from his incessant self-reflection. “And I suppose that you should be the one to teach me? Must I tell the tale of your fabled soup making abilities?”

One eyebrow lifting in unwitting imitation of his father, the younger of Elrond’s twin sons responded flippantly, “Not unless Estel will share with us how my soup tasted?”

The surrounding, quiet Wood-Elves did not understand the joke, but they smiled knowingly as they ate, for they were used to the peculiar friendship between their Prince and the Noldor.

Unwilling to let his Elven brother have the last word, Estel snorted in mild amusement and told Elrohir, “It tasted wonderful; that is, if one does not mind to have rocks and twigs stuck in his teeth for days afterward.”

Unaware of the history behind the Ranger’s comment, the Woodland guards laughed at Estel’s retort all the same, as did the twins and Aragorn. In that moment, an undercurrent of tension was released – a tension that Legolas had felt palpably – and he added his own relieved laughter to the others’ merriment. The Prince again observed the Ranger staring at him with cheerfulness and unhidden lust, which reminded him of his promise to Estel to elicit atonement from the Adan.

_Punishment, indeed. We shall see._


	28. Chapter 28

Legolas stood, while wondering how best to evade his protective head sentry, Kalin. His other sentries would follow a direct order to remain behind, if given one, and would not dare to interrogate him, but his head guard would ask questions before complying, Legolas knew, thereby potentially causing a disturbance and necessitating that the Prince explain why he needed to wander into the forest with the Ranger. _I’ve no desire to turn this into an investigation,_ the laegel brooded, seeing that already all his guards’ eyes had turned to him at his abrupt rise from his seat on the ground. _I promised Lord Elrond I would have Aragorn tend my thigh,_ he thought with sudden relief. Legolas now had an excuse. Lest he begin blushing as the reticent center of attention and thereby potentially giving them suspicions about the true, salacious intent behind his excuse, he made his justification quickly.

“Estel, since your brothers appear to be busy, perhaps you could aid me. I have pledged to Lord Elrond that I would let you see to my injury,” he eluded, wincing at what he thought to be an unconvincing explanation.

Elladan, who was throwing pebbles in Elrohir’s general direction, retorted without looking at the Silvan Prince, “Greenleaf willingly submitting to a healer’s care? How odd.”

“It is rather peculiar, I agree.” Elrohir snatched one of the pebbles from the air as it hurtled towards him, only to fling it back at his twin. “Next he’ll be asking for your advice on archery, brother.” The twins chuckled happily.

“Of course, I will,” Estel told the Prince, ignoring the twins’ comments, as did Legolas. The Ranger rose, grabbed his bag, and then playfully kicked dirt at his teasing brothers as he walked past them.

The human hurried from the tiny clearing they had settled in for the night. Eager to be alone with his lover, the Wood-Elf followed him almost as swiftly – that is, until Kalin’s soft call halted him, “Legolas.”

 _I knew it couldn’t be this easy._ Spinning around, tense with unresolved lust and the uncertainty of what his head sentry would say, he noted that every eye in the clearing was still upon him; the twins watched them with perceptive grins, while the others stared on in bothered confusion.

Kalin was wringing his hands together in anxious worry as he asked, “Can your wound not be seen to here?”

“No. I require some privacy,” he said kindly but commandingly in response to his sentry's query. “We will not tarry long. Remain here.”

Shining like silver in the moonlit dark of the forest, Kalin’s fair head bobbed in acquiescence to Legolas. The sentry seemed embarrassed to have questioned his Prince’s order – friend or not. “Call us if you have need.”

It was not without some guilt that the laegel nodded in return. He did not enjoy using his authority to gain his way, although it was certainly his right as Prince. He trailed his lover into the forest nonetheless, casting away the compunction that plagued him. _My thigh_ _does need tended and I would rather it not be tended amidst a crowd,_ he rationalized. _It is no lie._

Aragorn strode ahead of him, his long legs making quick work of the densely shrubbed forest floor, for the Adan was as enthusiastic to be free of the others' company as was the Prince. From the mere sight of his lover’s back and his strong, muscled limbs, Legolas found himself growing increasingly more desirous of the Ranger and forgot his unwanted guilt. The pair walked for some time in silence. The tall silver maples in this section of the forest gradually began to give way as they ventured closer to the foot of the mountain range, where the rocky soil was better suited for spruces, fir trees, and the many pines that towered over them.

“I cannot believe they let you leave,” the Ranger said, his voice drifting back to the Elf on the chilly breeze. “They have always watched over you as zealously as a hawk flying over its prey – especially Kalin. I did not think he would soon let you out of his sight.”

While the Ranger may have had his doubts about Kalin’s obedience, Legolas had known that Kalin would submit to his order, for questioning his Prince’s authority in front of the other guards undermined his own authority as their leader. Having been ordered to remain behind, Kalin would not seek out his Prince unless Legolas’ life was in danger. To Estel, the laegel refuted, “Kalin is dutiful. Not all are as impudent as you, human, to question one’s betters.”

Aragorn ceased walking to look around him, gauging the beautiful area with the caution his many years in the wilds had taught him. Although they were not too far to be heard if they shouted for aid, they were far enough away to have privacy – if they could be quiet. “No, not all are as insolent as I am, but then, not all are as wise as I am, either, in doubting one’s supposed betters.”

Legolas tried to contain his disbelief at the Ranger’s pretentious remark; when the human flashed a beguiling smile at him, the last of the Prince’s apprehension and guilt slipped away. He moved forward, placing himself inches from the human as he taunted back, “If you were truly so wise, Ranger, then you would have predicted that I was luring you out of safety’s reach to fulfill my promise of your atonement.” Circling his hands about the human’s waist, he wrenched Estel’s lower body to his, leaving no doubt of what his idea of atonement entailed. His hands swept down the human’s hips, gliding round to the sinuous curve of the Ranger’s back where the swell of his backside began.

“That was just what I was hoping, Master Elf.” In return, Aragorn’s arms encircled the Prince’s waist, pulling the Elf even closer and shortening the span between them such that Legolas could feel the Ranger’s firm torso through the layers of cloth and leather covering him. “I have been waiting for this punishment all day long,” Estel breathed into the Wood-Elf’s elegantly pointed ear. His lover’s need pressed against him, for it was growing thick with the mere proximity of their bodies and the feel of it was hastening the Prince’s implementation of his plans for his Ranger’s penance.

Smiling in expectation, the laegel walked away from Aragorn, who frowned petulantly after him at the loss of contact. “I have been looking forward to your punishment all this day, too, human.” Unclasping his cloak from over his shoulders, Legolas shook the folds out of the soft cloth to lay it flat on the pine needle covered ground. He dropped down onto it, ignoring the protest of his thigh at the action. The Ranger needed no invitation to join him; Aragorn sat beside him, reaching towards Legolas, who retreated from the Adan’s grasp with a laugh. He ordered with mendacious, princely ostentation, “Lie down.”

Confused and discontented, the reluctant man complied, his frown at the laegel’s evasiveness deepening even as Legolas’ grin widened upon seeing the Ranger’s frustration. With the human supine before him, one arm under his head and the other twitching on his chest in barely concealed annoyance, the Prince rolled onto his knees to walk upon them until he straddled the Ranger’s thighs. The Adan warned, “We’ve not much time for games, Greenleaf. I would rather not have Kalin or your other sentries come looking for us.”

The Silvan unstrapped his quiver and was glad to be free of its pressure on his bruised back. He sat it to the side along with his bow, within reach but out of their way. They were both fully clothed, which was a situation that the Prince wished to remedy. “This is your punishment, Master Human,” he teased and then lightly shoved the Ranger when he tried to rise into sitting. “Be still.”

Giving the laegel a vexed glower, Aragorn once more abided his lover’s admonishment and reclined on the Silvan’s cloak. Legolas spread the Ranger’s overcoat. Knowing what lay beneath the Adan’s tunic and desiring to savor the piquant flavor of the human’s flesh, he slid his hands underneath the cloth’s hem, rubbing upwards over the taut muscles of Aragorn’s stomach. The Ranger moved, reaching out again to Legolas, but the Prince ceased his ministrations and removed his hands from under the tunic to grab Estel’s wrists. He raised the human’s arms above his head, bending to do so such that he was nearly lying upon Aragorn.

With his lover’s wrists held tightly in his strong fingers, he stayed the Ranger’s movement, cautioning, “If this is a game, then you do not get to play. But I will let you watch, if you will be still.”

Estel scowled but did not try to pull his wrists free, which would have been a fruitless effort anyway, as the Prince outmatched him in strength. The Adan protested, “You cannot expect me to just lie here.”

“No, I expect you to lie there, and watch, and _be still,_ ” the Prince ordered, unfazed by the human’s irritation as he released the Ranger’s wrists.

Aragorn did not move but continued to glare at the Elf hovering over him. Sitting upright again, the Wood-Elf mused, _This submission will not last long._ Although he could never have voiced this aloud, for he was uncertain of the import behind his actions, Legolas wanted to see the human writhe with pleasure, to know that he was the cause of it, but also to initiate the pleasure they would find. Legolas was not sure what had prompted him to desire to test the Adan’s patience in this way, except that he felt the need to be in control of what was happening around him, which for now extended to the delectation he yearned to give Estel.

He slid his hands back under the Ranger’s tunic to resume his gentle chafing of the man’s powerful torso, while enjoying the sour look the human gave him. However, Estel’s gaze soon softened from the carnal craving that the Elf’s touch roused. Legolas pushed the fabric up, exposing Estel’s honed, bronzed stomach. Looking to the Ranger to see that he would remain motionless, the Wood-Elf leant forward to have his taste of the human’s skin by lightly licking the Adan’s navel. This sampling was not enough, so he delved his tongue into the recess of his lover’s bellybutton, lapping over the thin trail of dark hair there, moving upwards, and savoring the slightly salty taste of his Ranger’s stomach. He pushed the fabric up farther until he uncovered the greater part of the human’s chest.

Legolas shifted until he could reseat himself on Aragorn’s groin, continuing what he had started only this morning in doing what he had intended before being interrupted by the twins. The Ranger’s scowl was replaced by an indecent, intense look of curiosity; he perused every movement the Prince made, watching the laegel as Legolas leant forward again, this time lavishing with his mouth the middle of the Ranger’s chest, running his lithesome tongue along the curves of the human’s well-defined musculature, around each pectoral, and back down to the Ranger’s stomach.

Although he faintly twisted into the Prince’s attentions, Estel did not seek to touch the laegel, nor did he complain at Legolas’ slow moving tongue; and so, the Wood-Elf decided to reward his lover’s patience by kissing one of the man’s tense, vermilion nipples. Immediately, the human moaned and raised his chest to increase the sensation, but the Prince did not continue – not until the Ranger gave up and reclined against the cloak once more. Only then did Legolas proceed to kiss the tight bud again, swirling his tongue around the Adan’s reactive flesh and feeling the bud tighten further under his mouth when he took it between his lips. Reveling in the Ranger’s taste, intermittently biting the man’s sensitive skin and then delicately laving it with his tongue, Legolas stroked the human’s sides and belly with his fingertips all the while.

“Greenleaf –” the Ranger started but his words were lost in a groan when the Elf moved his adoration across the human’s chest to the Adan’s other, neglected left nipple, though he rubbed the swollen, abandoned right one soothingly with one hand.

He wanted to feel the man’s skin against his own, to experience the heat of the Adan’s flushed flesh under his, so without ceasing his mouth’s manipulations, the Wood-Elf unfastened his tunic and pulled it free from his shoulders, flinging it away. With his own graceful chest bared, the laegel shifted his body over the human’s body, bestriding the Ranger by placing his unmarred thigh between Estel’s legs and against his emergent arousal, and resting his marred thigh on the other side of the Ranger’s leg. His own stiffening shaft pressed enticingly against Aragorn’s lean hip.

Laying himself across the Ranger’s chest, the Prince sensed more than saw that the human was about to move to touch him. Quickly, he caught Aragorn’s wrists and was prepared to reprimand his lover to be still yet again, but the passionate expression on the Ranger’s face stilled his words. Legolas claimed the human’s parted lips, for he was unable to resist the temptation to taste the Ranger’s panting breath. Aragorn responded avidly to this, meeting each plunge of the Elf’s tongue into his eager mouth with his own. The Elf’s craving for his lover’s flavor was hardly satiated before the need for air drove them apart. He brushed his lips against the man’s jawline, the Ranger’s stubble scratching his fair skin as his mouth prowled Estel’s neck, and his tongue darting out to catch the drops of lust-borne sweat from the hollow of his lover’s throat.

“Meleth nin,” he murmured, pausing to face the human. Legolas received only a husky grunt in reply, which he took as evidence that his plan was succeeding, but inquired regardless, “Is your atonement grueling enough yet?”

The Ranger laughed hoarsely; he cleared his throat before he answered, “Not quite yet, Master Elf. I am not yet repentant.” Tugging his wrists, which Legolas had yet to release again, the Adan appealed, “Perhaps I could procure penitence more quickly if I were allowed to move?”

“Not yet repentant, you say?” Legolas resumed his excruciatingly pleasurable assault on the human’s neck, nipping at the Ranger’s skin and causing the man to gasp for air. “Then I suppose you will need to remain still for a while longer while I find a more taxing way to chastise you.” The Elf slithered down Aragorn’s body, nudging the human’s knees apart with his own so that he could kneel between them, while the Ranger watched with anticipation for what the laegel would do next and disappointment that he would be required to remain immobile for a while more.

The Prince began leisurely to untie the knot at the Ranger’s leggings and was pleased at the human’s adamantine arousal. _I cannot believe he is passive even now,_ Legolas contemplated in amusement while noting the attentiveness on his lover’s face – a concentration that the Elf knew to be the Ranger’s effort not to budge.

With the man’s leggings now untied, the Prince hooked his fingers under the waistband and skimmed the cloth past the human’s hips, freeing Aragorn’s erection. He wasted little time, for his own desire was as vigorous as was the Ranger’s need; the laegel reached out to stroke lightly the underside of his lover’s long shaft, his carnal hunger excited to greater heights by the lust his own actions wrought. Although the Ranger trembled, he did not move as he grunted in gratification when Legolas quickly replaced his questing hand with his tongue, for he was impatient to imbibe the dab of semen at the slit atop the Ranger’s manhood – when he did this, the laegel earned a choked moan of gratification from the Adan.

“Please, Greenleaf. Let me touch you,” the human implored.

“No,” the laegel demurred. Legolas was pleasantly surprised that the Ranger had not just ignored the Elf’s game to take over the progression of their pleasure. “Not yet. Not yet.”

Each time Legolas’ mouth flicked across Aragorn’s arousal, the man moaned heedlessly. The Wood-Elf lathed the head of his lover’s length with his tongue, and then kissed the Ranger’s firm shaft ere he took it between his lips to engulf gingerly, lovingly within his mouth. He teased the Ranger, running his tongue along Aragorn’s manhood – up and down – while lapping at its base as he rubbed the insides of his lover’s nude thighs with one hand. He pushed his hair back with his free hand so that the Ranger could watch.

Estel begged in wanton licentiousness, “This is not punishment, this is torture. Please, Greenleaf, no more. I want to taste you, as well.”

The Elf did not acknowledge the human’s plea except to take Aragorn’s shaft entirely within his mouth, rendering the Ranger silent save for his moan of satisfaction as the Prince devoured the hard flesh to its root. Legolas drew in his cheeks while using his tongue to massage Estel’s rigid cock, bobbing his head and inciting the Ranger to growl with each rise and fall of the Elf’s indulgent mouth upon him. The laegel moved gradually, though in a tantalizingly increasing pace. Knowing he was bringing the human close to climax, Legolas stopped, gave the Adan a spry grin, and then stood abruptly to cross the clearing, leaving a disoriented and ebulliently stimulated Ranger to flounder at the sudden departure of his lover.

“Greenleaf,” the human huffed. Aragorn remained motionless except for the shivers of lust that wracked his body. “What are you doing?”

He picked up the Ranger’s satchel and affected a nonchalant attitude when he walked back to the human. Legolas sat cross-legged close to Estel on their makeshift bed of cloak covered pine needles, saying, “You said you would tend the wound upon my thigh.”

For several moments, Aragorn was apparently at a loss until he stammered, “N-now? You wish me to tend your thigh now?”

The Ranger sat up, incredulous at that thought that his atonement might be that Legolas purposely intended to leave him in such an aroused state, but the human soon was pushed back down by the laegel, who laughed merrily and continued searching through the Adan’s satchel. When his fingers hit the cool glass of a phial that had been wrapped in cloth, the Prince brought it out in the hopes that it was the one he sought, although he had felt no others in the bag.

“I am only teasing,” he conceded, holding up the phial. Chuckling at the human’s ostensible relief, Legolas laid the phial to the side and stood again. The Ranger was still half-clothed with his leggings only pulled to mid-thigh and his shirt pushed up to expose his chest so that he would not get too cold; however, Legolas was impervious to the algid breeze and so unlaced his leggings quickly, struggling to heave them over his booted feet to be free of all his clothing.

Aragorn stated with hope, “I am quite contrite, now, Greenleaf. Perhaps –”

“Not yet, be patient,” the laegel chided and resumed kneeling beside the Ranger to retrieve the phial of oil. The Elf uncapped it; the Ranger’s aggravation at being denied again the chance to touch his lover soon became paramount lust when the Silvan poured the sweet smelling liquid into the palm of one of his own hands.

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 _I cannot bear this any longer,_ the Ranger complained to himself, unable to tear his gaze away from Legolas’ actions. Above his amatory desires and overwhelming his wish for completion came the utmost need to touch the Wood-Elf, to feel the laegel’s smooth, pale skin, and to bring the Prince the same pleasure as his Greenleaf brought him. It was obvious that the Prince was enjoying himself, for his rigid, beautiful length told the Ranger this much; however, Estel wanted to be the cause for the Elf’s pleasure. It was maddening to remain stationary.

When the Prince dipped his fingers into the oil in his palm and spread the slippery liquid over them, Aragorn knew what the Elf would do and begged to be the one doing it. “Please, Greenleaf. Let me.”

However, the Wood-Elf only smiled wickedly, infuriatingly, and reached behind him with his oil-slicked digits. The Ranger’s lust rose at the change of expression on the Elf’s face when the Prince found his entrance and fondled himself while the Adan watched. He could not see the Prince’s ministrations, nor could he participate, but he found the spectacle erotic nonetheless. He was a rapt voyeur as Legolas primed his body to accept the man’s shaft.

From the first and only time that he had gently prepared the Elf’s body, the memory arose of the heat and tightness of the Silvan’s aperture – a sensation that he now ached to experience again with his fingers before enjoying it with his shaft. The recollection caused Aragorn’s hips to jerk upward as if the Wood-Elf were already seated upon him and made his fingers twitch in perfervid eagerness to be the cause for the lustful expression upon his lover’s fair visage. Estel tried again, his desperation growing, “Can I not help you with this? Please, Greenleaf.”

“No, Estel,” the Wood-Elf breathed, his eyes shut tightly as he worked his body, though they were not shut in fear or shame, but in concentration. Legolas’ head fell back as he found within himself the small rise that brought him immeasurable fulfillment. “I have already told you – you may only watch for now.”

The brazen sensuality that the Elf displayed while Legolas’ worries were forgotten in the bliss of his game, coupled with the recognition that the Prince’s mischievous side had taken over and thus Aragorn would not be able to convince Legolas to change the rules to his game, quieted the Ranger’s protest for the nonce. _Let him have his fun,_ he finally decided, beaming lasciviously as Legolas grumbled in pleasure.

“Perhaps if you are good,” the Prince amended, shifting to straddle the Ranger’s thighs once again, “I will let you play soon.” The laegel poured more of the phial’s oil onto Estel’s feverishly inflexible shaft, slicking the rigid column of flesh thoroughly. Legolas then crept forward on his knees, positioning himself over Aragorn’s groin. At seeing this, the smile fled the man’s face and he feared that the Prince was acting too soon. Aragorn wanted for the Elf never to feel any pain similar to that which the laegel had felt while the merchants had degraded him – even if the Prince was the one causing it.

“Wait,” the worried Adan tried to halt the Prince, inquiring nervously, “Are you sure you are ready?”

“More than ready,” the laegel retorted, winding his hand behind him to grasp the Ranger’s shaft.

Slowly, the Elf lowered himself, guiding Aragorn’s cock to his opening. The suspense of this slow action unnerved Estel and the Ranger’s fear that Legolas may soon hurt himself made Aragorn’s hands clench in the longing to ascertain that the Silvan would be well. Soon, however, his lover’s flesh met his own – the Woodland Prince did not pause as his opening parted to receive the Ranger’s member. The laegel sighed gutturally and continued to sink down onto Estel’s ready manhood.

Deliberately did the Elf move, panting with lust all the while, until Aragorn was sheathed within the Wood-Elf and the Prince’s tightness encased him in its torrid grasp. The Silvan was no virgin but nor was he seasoned; thus, Legolas paused to allow his body the time to accommodate the human’s girth, which only heightened Aragorn’s desire with the wait. Soon, however, the laegel began to rise and fall in slight movements, rocking Estel’s manhood within him. With each roll of his hips, the Prince caused his erection to bounce against the human’s navel – the Ranger had a difficult time restraining his hand from finding his lover’s shaft and caressing it in time with Legolas’ motions.

Bending forward, the Prince pressed himself against the human’s chest, trying vainly to reach his lover’s mouth with his own, and though Aragorn could have leant upward to be of aid in this endeavor, he remembered his order to be still. The Ranger smiled at this reversal of need even as he moaned with the pleasure that the Wood-Elf’s shift in pose brought.

Legolas whispered headily, “Estel?”

“Yes?” he asked, knowing just what the Elf would say next. He was not disappointed.

“I believe your atonement is fulfilled,” Legolas conceded with a snicker, his blue eyes dark and gleaming with yearning.

Not needing to be told twice, the Ranger’s hands flew to his lover’s back; he was eager to feel the Prince’s skin under his fingers. At once, the man elevated his head to capture the Elf’s mouth. Fervently, the Ranger embraced the Silvan while his hands skimmed greedily over the sculptured, Elven body above him. Estel caressed the Elf’s chest, his back, his rear – wherever his hands could reach. Their slow passion of before was now replaced with unbridled want as the additional stimulus of Aragorn’s touch provoked the Silvan’s imminent climax. Legolas’ previously slow movements were abruptly quickened when the Wood-Elf leant back and began thrusting down onto the human’s shaft with more force, while the laegel’s innermost muscles and searingly hot flesh clenched around Aragorn’s cock. The Prince moved in a wild cadence, pleasing the Ranger with both the sensation of his movement and the knowledge that the Elf was finding pleasure from him.

 _I have never seen anyone or anything as magnificent as he is right now,_ the Ranger determined of the sight of Legolas atop him, the Elf’s head thrown back with abandon and satisfaction, his back arched and his lips parted, his breath coming in sharp rasps.

No longer able to reach the Wood-Elf’s chest or back, Estel sought the Prince’s dripping shaft and his hand enclosed the rigid flesh to stroke it as he had wanted to before – that is, in time with each plunge of the Elf’s eager body onto the Ranger’s cock. When the motion became too much for him to refrain from increasing their tempo, when his body responded instinctually to the sensation of the Prince’s clutching aperture surrounding his hardness, and when the Elf rammed his lower half roughly onto the man’s shaft, Aragorn began to thrust back, bucking into Legolas’ silken, starburst opening, while their bodies danced wildly in a disorderly tempo.

He could contain himself no longer when the Prince halted their colliding bodies; the Elf’s snug opening grasped at the Ranger’s manhood in rapid, nearly painful contractions as his climax began. Aragorn stroked Legolas’ shaft, feeling the hot seed of his lover spill over his hand and stomach even as he found his own release within the Wood-Elf only a few moments later.

Now that they had both found their completion, a tired and sated Legolas collapsed onto Aragorn while the Ranger wrapped his arms around the Prince’s back, enjoying the closeness of his lover pressed to him while trying to reclaim his breath. When the Silvan stirred, Estel grumbled, “Remind me to tell Ada that your punishment is far more agreeable than his.” The Wood-Elf drew himself up on his elbows to glower in amusement at the Ranger, their bodies still joined, and neither wanting to rectify this. “Although it did border on cruelty, Greenleaf. That was quite unkind – making me watch while not letting me touch you.”

Sighing and smiling, the Prince reluctantly crawled from the Ranger only to flop back onto their cloak and pine needle bed. “But you have learnt your lesson?”

“Indeed.” He rolled to his side, one arm under his head, to admire the nude Elf, who stared just as adoringly back at him. Twisting his face into one of confusion, he asked, “What was my lesson again?” Aragorn was too preoccupied in staring at the Elf’s beautiful body to avoid the flung out hand that smacked against the back of his head. “Legolas,” he cried, rubbing his misused head, “must you beat me, as well? That’s hardly fair!”

The laegel laughed at the human’s inanity. “I told your father you were too old for a whipping – seems I was wrong.”

They remained as they were for a few more moments until Aragorn suggested with a sigh of regret, “We ought to be heading back to camp, much as I loathe doing so.”

Although Legolas lingered as he was, the Ranger hefted his leggings back over his hips before pulling his shirt down over his stomach. He did not bother to tie his trousers but grabbed his satchel, searching through it for a waterskin and a small square of linen bandaging. He cleaned himself of the oil and spent seed of their lovemaking before passing the water and a second cloth to the Prince. “I am sure we will find Kalin pacing a hole in the forest floor while the twins are likely regaling your poor sentries with some preposterous story.” Gathering Legolas’ clothes, he placed them in a pile next to the Elf.

The Ranger was probably right; Legolas pondered, “I think every Elf with whom they have even the briefest acquaintance has been subjected to one of their tales.”

“More than likely. Wait a moment,” the Adan reminded the Prince, nodding at the Elf’s wounded thigh to stop Legolas ere he finished dressing. “We cannot forget the reason we ventured into the forest.”

Legolas lifted both eyebrows, his eyes alight with impishness. “My thigh will need regular tending – perhaps every night, Estel?”

“It will.” Shaking his head in disbelief of his luck to have access to the beautiful Wood-Elf’s body, the Ranger pulled out more bandaging and a paste of herbs that he had packed especially for the Silvan’s wound.

 _It gives us a good excuse to stray from camp every night,_ Estel mused, knowing what the Prince was thinking. Clothed save for his trousers pulled down to his knees, the laegel was smiling widely, and Aragorn only shook his head again as he moved to tend the Prince’s injury. _The wound is no worse than this morning, thank Eru. He has not pestered it._

Unthinkingly, the human remarked flippantly, “I think your sentries will start to suspect us if we go off alone every night; that is, if they don’t already.”

The Elf’s face fell, his smile fading into a frown, and the human was immediately regretful of his words. Legolas’ head dropped and his attention focused on the Ranger’s hands, which were cleaning and wrapping his thigh. “I do not care if they suspect anything. Their opinions mean naught to me.” Having nothing to say to the laegel’s quiet declaration, the Adan continued to wrap clean linen around the Elf’s leg while Legolas continued, “I do not tell them because I wish to have my father hear the confirmation of his fear from me – not from a guard – but I am not ashamed of our love, Estel.”

Unbidden tears stung the Ranger’s eyes. The human had given little thought to Thranduil’s opinion prior to receiving the twins’ lecture the morning after when first he and Legolas had shared pleasure by the brook. Even now, the Adan realized that he had not yet learnt of how the Prince planned to resolve his father’s hatred of Estel, which would only grow exponentially once Thranduil learnt that Thranduilion was in love with a male, a human, and the Ranger whom he reviled.

 _Greenleaf chances much for me. Too much._ He still could not find his voice to respond; nevertheless, his mind ran rampant with inveighing thoughts. _I have spent too much time trying not to think of Thranduil. The twins said that the Elf-King would kill Legolas if he finds out that we are lovers. Will he truly react with such violence?_

Candidly, the Elf added, his eyes still upon the Adan’s hands as they finished their task, “My father will never accept us. You know this already.”

It was the Ranger’s turn to hang his head; he could not look the Elf in the eye as he began to replace items into his satchel. He could think of nothing else to say other than, “I am sorry, Greenleaf.”

“Estel.” Legolas tilted the human’s head up, his smile loving and reconciled, so that the Ranger had no choice but to return his gaze as he promised, “He is my King and father. He holds my allegiance, my body. You hold my heart. That will never change. You are all I want.” The Elf leant forward to place a chaste kiss on the human’s forehead. “Now come, before Kalin treads the forest bare of grass.”

He sat while the Wood-Elf stood, watching the Elf lacing his leggings. Aragorn was unwilling to consent to the Silvan making such a pledge when it may well claim his life, but realizing there was little alternative save for his renouncing his love for the Elf – a lie he could never imagine making – the Ranger remained silent. _As much as I love him, mayhap he would be better off without me. I only interfere with his life and with his relationship with his father._ Again, he rebuked himself, _I have cared more to enjoy our love and left unconsidered what effect our love would have upon Greenleaf. He should not have to suffer his father’s wrath just to be with me; nor should he have to face the grief that my death will one day bring – not after all the sorrow that he has already overcome._

Eventually, when the Wood-Elf held his quiver in hand, waiting for his cloak so he could strap the leather, arrow-filled pouch over top of it, the Ranger rose and numbly gathered his thoughts. Although the realization broke him, Aragorn understood that he was unworthy of the Silvan’s love. He did not want Legolas to suffer for eternity because of his love, which was unending in sentiment but temporary in actuality. Even if the Prince died from grief upon Estel’s death, he would spend his time in the Halls of Awaiting without his mortal lover; should he be re-embodied by Mandos to live in Valinor before the end of Ilúvatar’s song, Legolas would be forced to live out eternity without Estel. The Elves took mates for all of time – Legolas had chosen the Ranger for forever, quite literally. For too long, Aragorn had pushed aside the potential consequences of their love. Thinking of them now, he found that though he may come out the winner, the Wood-Elf was bound to lose – especially with his father. The first seed of doubt was planted within him by Legolas’ confession of unconditional adoration.

“Estel?” The Wood-Elf held the Ranger’s satchel in hand, holding it out to him questioningly. “Are you well?”

He did not feel well at all. Within his bones crept shame and disgust at himself for ever making his love known, for letting Legolas sacrifice himself for the human’s pathetic, short life, when the Prince might otherwise have lived evermore. To think that the Prince would be in constant aggravation from his father's disavowal of his son's choice in lovers, and all for a temporary lover at that – well, the human could only ask himself, _What have I done?_

Repeating himself, though his worry was greater than moments before, Legolas queried gently and laid a hand upon his lover’s shoulder, “Estel? What is wrong?”

“I am fine,” he responded automatically, giving the Silvan what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Let's go back before the twins drive your sentries mad.”

Legolas eyed him; the Prince said nothing but walked from their place of repose nonetheless. The Ranger followed silently, worriedly.

_What have I done?_


	29. Chapter 29

They walked in strained silence towards the camp – silence behind which the Prince did not understand the reason. The Adan followed the Wood-Elf through the forest, his soft footsteps making little more noise than did Legolas’ footsteps. Aragorn’s face was drawn tight; he appeared to be thinking earnestly. _I wish we’d the time alone. I would know what bothers him._ The only sound the Prince could hear was the occasional rustling of the pine treetops, which were blanketed in their never-ending greenery. Upon their return to the campsite, the recalcitrant, energetic twins and a worried Kalin were the only Elves visible, and though Legolas knew that his sentries were in the trees above their heads, he was glad not to have to face them all.

“My Prince.” The fair sentry left his pacing around the clearing to hurry to his Prince, looking over his charge for injury or disturbance. Finding none, he smiled in relief.

“All is well, Kalin. You’ve worried for nothing,” the Prince assured him, forcing himself to return the smile. He sat beside the Noldorin twins, who had apparently not tired of throwing things at each other, and now had progressed to tossing twigs into each other’s hair. “When will you wake me for my turn keeping watch?”

The sentry did not bother to answer the question but smiled indulgently at the Prince. They both knew that Legolas would not be asked to participate in the rotations of night watch – nor, for that matter, would the twins or Estel. Kalin queried instead, teasing gently the two Noldorin Elves, whom he had known for as long as Legolas had known them, “Clearly, Lords Elladan and Elrohir cannot be left to their own devices; I presume you will sleep on the ground?”

Legolas tore his gaze from the reticent Ranger seated across from him, who stared into the woods with a pensive, brooding look upon his face. “I will. Someone must see that the Noldor behave. Besides, the trees would likely toss them out, as annoying as they tend to be.” He saw the flying twig long before it struck his cheek but did not move to avoid it, knowing the Noldo would continue throwing them until one met its target. Another twig hit the same spot only seconds later, having been thrown by the other twin. Despite his worry over his lover’s suddenly dark, secret thoughts, the laegel laughed, musing aloud, “Must you do everything in pairs?”

“Ah, but I threw the twig first. Elrohir only threw one at you because he must mimic everything I do.” Elladan let loose a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head at his twin. “It is pathetic, brother. I hope when you are older you realize the affliction your existence truly is.”

The absurdity of Elladan’s statement caused even Aragorn to snicker, his attention drawn from his thoughts to his rambunctious brothers. “You’re only a few minutes my senior,” the younger twin quipped dryly, “and as we were conceived at the same time, your existence likely hinged upon mine.”

Kalin interrupted the inane banter, speaking more loudly than the arguing twins, “If you will excuse me, I believe I will take my leave.” He bowed deferentially to the four beings sitting under the massive elm tree, glaring meaningfully, but playfully at Elladan and Elrohir as he muttered to Legolas, “I hope you manage to find some rest tonight, my Prince.”

Elladan and Elrohir began their conversation again, ignoring pointedly the sentinel’s offhand insinuation of the nuisance of their raucous behavior, but the Prince paid them no mind. He grabbed his bound, thick bedroll from where it sat behind him, untied it, and then spread it on the earth. Unstrapping his quiver, he laid the leather case with his bow on the relatively dry ground above his head as he reclined, his eyes never straying far from the once again withdrawn Ranger until his own body barred his view. The Prince had known that something was amiss and that the Ranger was not honest when he told him he was well; however, given the topic of their conversation, Legolas did not feel well, either, when thinking of his father.

 _I have been selfish in thinking only of what toll going to Mirkwood would have on me. I would not have Estel suffer for my troubles._ Rolling over to face away from the good-naturedly bickering brothers, the Wood-Elf inattentively rubbed the cleaned and wrapped scar on his thigh as he thought, wishing he could dig at it – it itched him as it healed. It had not uttered its vile accusations since early that morning, when the Ranger had quelled its vociferations, and so it was not to quiet it that he scraped his flesh through his leggings.

The wound was not the same as it had been when his skin was first scored by the broken branch, shortly after his first encounter with the merchants. At first, it had been shallow, long, and naught but a temporary brand. It had meant nothing to him. When foul fate had enabled the merchants a second chance to complete the excruciation they had but started the first time, the scar had still meant nothing to him. It was a reminder, yes, but not the cause of his grief. The length of the scar had healed, leaving only the tender, much abused and much deeper wound in the middle.

Legolas recalled his Minyatar’s words to him and his explanation of the scar. _Do not think of it. Not now._ The thoughts shattered his peace, the serenity a product of the affection and mischief he shared with his lover only a short time ago. The twins were silent. Legolas heard them unrolling their own bedrolls, preparing for the night of rest before they trekked across the dangerous Misty Mountains.

Absorbed in his thinking and pacified into feeling safe with his sentries and the Noldor nearby, the Prince let his mind wander, his thoughts steered carefully from the present and the future. He remembered his travels with Aragorn, the times they had spent in battle, and of a particular time while the Ranger was barely an adult that they had spent two months exploring the protected woods of Rivendell, returning to Imladris only when necessary. Those times were ones the Prince treasured; Legolas had always felt carefree around the Ranger, even in the midst of scuffles with Orcs. He had never thought of his friend in anything but platonic terms until recently, but he had never thought of anyone as he thought of Estel.

When the clearing was still with the twins and Ranger seemingly resting quietly, the agitated Prince rolled onto his back, looking through the limbs of the tree above him to the dark, cloudy sky overhead. _It might rain tomorrow,_ he decided, trying to deflect the odd sense of doom that ate at him.

Whether the Ranger chose to sleep across the way from him for the benefit of keeping their love secret from the Wood-Elves in the trees or whether Aragorn’s mysterious thoughts kept him from Legolas’ side was not an issue that the Prince wished to contemplate. He counted the budding leaves adorning the limbs overhead, while knowing that true sleep would not claim him this night. The absence of his lover beside him exacerbated the void within him and he did not trust himself to dream.

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He couldn’t hear the Prince’s breathing. Unlike his brothers’ barely audible, relaxed snores as they lay in reverie, Legolas did not snore, and his breathing was so slight that even had Aragorn laid his head on the Elf’s torso, he would not have heard it. The Ranger turned to his side, disconcerted and unwilling to continue feigning sleep for another moment – not when all he could think of was watching the Elf’s chest rise and fall. As silly as it may have seemed to him, Estel needed to know that his lover was well and he could not be certain of it while lying so far away.

 _Fine,_ he told himself, sitting upright to shed the two thick blankets his brothers had insisted he borrow from them for the night. _I will move._

The Ranger was not sure why he had chosen not to sleep beside the Wood-Elf. It was not because of the sentries in the trees, his brothers, or something Legolas had done or said. He had needed to think; however, reflection came hard for him when he was close to the laegel, for the plaguing doubts and shadowed questions he needed to resolve were scattered by the light of Legolas’ love for him. So he had sought solitude, if only for a while, to contemplate his misgivings, to find some way to ameliorate his fears and solve the nagging suspicion that he had done more harm than good for Legolas. But after trying for several hours to find a comfortable position on the cold, damp ground, and stifling his need to know that the Elf was still well by watching him sleep, Aragorn had traced his every doubt back to the same conclusion – no matter the temporary joy that their love brought them, the result would remain the same. He brought more trouble than good to Legolas and now it was too late to keep the Prince from harm.

Knowing that the Wood-Elves in the trees could likely see his every move, he scooted off his bedroll. The Ranger looked to his brothers, smiling as he saw that in their repose Elladan had rolled onto his stomach and Elrohir was using the small of his brother’s back as a pillow, his body no longer lying on the bedroll at all. Legolas lay facing the stars, his eyes open to the scant view overhead. With the end of the bedroll in hand, the Ranger dragged his mat the short distance between where he had lain and where the Elf lay now, positioning the cloth as close to the laegel as possible. Although the Wood-Elf did not stir, he was not sleeping, and did not rouse from his thoughts when Aragorn stretched out beside him.

For several long moments, the Ranger merely observed his lover, feeling relieved of a fear he could suddenly name. _I do not want him to leave me._ It was selfish, he knew, to want the Elf to stay with him when it only meant the Prince would suffer.

He reached out to pick up a strand of the long, flaxen hair that lay across the laegel’s shoulder. Twirling the lock around his finger, the human mused, _I cannot believe he is so lost in his thoughts._ When the Wood-Elf grinned, the Ranger drew himself up onto his elbows, releasing his hold of his lover’s hair so that he could peer down into the Silvan’s beautiful, beaming face.

“Greenleaf?”

With a blink of his eyes, the laegel’s smile faded and a frown settled over his brow. He blinked once more, his thin eyelids sliding shut to hide the deep pools of cerulean underneath for a brief moment ere they flew open, focusing on Aragorn straightaway.

He preempted the Prince’s question, saying, “All is well. I am sorry to disturb you.” The laegel visibly relaxed, the worried lines of his forehead smoothed out, and his smile returned. He said nothing. Unable to resist asking, the Ranger queried, “Of what were you thinking?”

The Wood-Elf slipped one arm out from under his head, reaching out to comb his long fingers through Aragorn’s hair and pushing the unruly curls from the Ranger’s face. “You. I was thinking of you.”

The infinite love and acceptance with which the Prince gazed at him, forgiving of his reticence and withdraw, dispelled the human’s doubts, as he knew would happen. Estel dropped his aching head onto the Elf’s shoulder, burrowing his face into the Prince’s neck and wrapping his arm across the laegel’s chest. Immediately, the Wood-Elf returned the embrace, enveloping the human in his arms.

Legolas sighed contentedly, leaving the Ranger to think once more, _I do not deserve such devotion._

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The seemingly impenetrable mountains stood before them, mocking them; it was a journey that the Elves and human had made many times. Thus, they gave no thought to the austere, dangerous path on which they rode. Unlike the day before, when the party of Elves and man had talked, laughed, and sung without worry, all were quiet this morning and their attentions were on their surroundings. Although Orcs were not wont to travel during the day, it did not ensure the wayfarers’ safety to rely on this reluctance, nor did it save them from the possibility of marauding bands of humans looking to take advantage of the unprepared.

Legolas listened unenthusiastically to the twins’ whispered argument, an extension of the one they had held the night before. “…if you do not believe me, brother, then be sure to ask Ada. He will tell you what I have told you – they found you under a rock, Elrohir.”

“Ah. It is merely coincidence that we look the same, then?”

Save for his careful observation of the surrounding mountainside, the Wood-Elf kept his attention on the Ranger. When the laegel had been ripped from his pleasant remembrances of the Adan the night before, Legolas had been surprised to find that Aragorn had moved to be closer to him. It was a welcome surprise, however. Whatever foul mood had settled over the Adan had lifted during the night. In the morning, when he had woken from the sleep he would not have gained without the Ranger beside him, the Elf had found Estel already awake. The Ranger was sitting across the clearing and in the same withdrawn disposition as the night before. It confused him, it irritated him, but moreover, it hurt him to be rejected from his lover’s thoughts.

“No, it is no coincidence,” Elladan replied. “Eru sent you here to annoy me endlessly. Giving you the same fair comeliness as mine is merely a test of my patience.”

_They wouldn’t cease bickering if we were avoiding Sauron himself._

The Ranger turned to his brothers, shaking his head at the twins’ incessant arguing. “You are _both_ testing my patience.” Aragorn’s lips curved into a faint smile, belying the seriousness of his complaint.

Elrohir harrumphed in indignation. “Excuse us, Master Human, for forgetting that forbearance is not one of your assets. Perhaps –”

The horse in front of their small procession stopped, as did the conversation, when Kalin held his hand up. A mounted scout sent out before them was galloping down the hill. The wounded Elf did not need to reach the Silvan, Noldor, and human before they realized the oncoming danger – the black arrow jutting out from the Elf’s shoulder was warning enough. 


	30. Chapter 30

Before the wounded Elf had even reached where their party was halted, Elladan and Elrohir dismounted, vaulting from their horses with their satchels at ready. The remaining Elves and human eyed the approaching warrior warily and every Elf’s senses were heightened, their quick minds making note of each sound and movement up ahead.

 _It is of Orc make,_ the Ranger determined, seeing the telltale substantiation of this in the dark feathers and blackened shafts of the arrow.

“There are only a few of them,” the wounded Elf, who the Ranger remembered to be named Oiolaire, explained without preamble. He was pulled from his horse by Elrohir, though the Wood-Elf did not seem to notice, for his gaze never drifted from Kalin and Legolas. “They were climbing the mountain, much as we, when I caught up to them. They did not see me, but one of their kind had strayed from the pack, coming from the trees across from me as I watched them. He did not –”

The Wood-Elf yelped softly in pained surprise when Elladan pulled the arrow free from his shoulder. Oiolaire had been so intent on his account that he had not been prepared for the abrupt action. Estel shifted nervously on his horse, wishing he’d the eyes to see beyond the gently rolling hills that eventually became the tall, misty mountains. The sentry shot the twins a vindictive look before returning to his explanation to his kith, “He did not have the chance to warn the others of my presence or of our approach, for though he had the chance to let loose an arrow, it was his last before my own arrow felled him.”

Aragorn watched Legolas exchange a shrewd look with Kalin. “How many did you see?”

The wounded Elf replied to his Prince, “No more than ten.”

The Ranger judged, _Valar, we can easily match that number, even with one already wounded._

It seemed Legolas and Kalin determined much the same, for the sentry advised the Prince, “We can linger until they have passed the mountain before proceeding or take a different path, but ten Orcs would be no challenge and we need not delay.” It would ultimately be the Prince’s choice as to their course of action and so all eyes turned to him.

Elladan was tugging Oiolaire’s tunic free so that he could bandage the wound, while Elrohir was rapidly preparing a paste of herbs to smear across the injury. From where he sat, the Ranger could see that the arrow had not lodged deeply within the Elf’s flesh. The arrow was merely a sharpened shaft without an arrowhead, and thus had done little damage upon its removal. And yet, he knew, as did they all, that that the real danger was poison and not the wound itself.

The Elves waited patiently for Legolas’ decision but the laegel had another question; he asked, “How far ahead of us do they travel? I do not want to give them warning of our coming by having to chase them up the mountainside. They will have the higher ground.”

Oiolaire assured his liege, “They are on foot. If we remain horsed – at least until we get close – we can easily overtake them before they can prepare.”

The Prince nodded at Oiolaire’s answer, saying, “Then let us ride quickly ahead before they realize their companion is missing or gain enough ground to see us from a higher perspective upon the mountain.”

At hearing Legolas’ decision, Estel was suddenly reminded that the Wood-Elf was much older and much wiser than was he, despite the Elf’s innocence in some matters, and also that the Prince had been reared to make these very decisions as his father would. It was easy to forget that Legolas, the Mirkwood sentries, and the twins were all seasoned warriors, as when not amidst enemies, the Elves were typically friendly, merry beings.

All around him, the Wood-Elves were silent and still, their preparation for the forthcoming encounter with the Orcs not material in nature but mental. The twins finished tending the wounded sentry and then helped him replace his tunic and mount his horse, for there was no question that Oiolaire would come with them to ride against the enemy. With a gentle word, Legolas’ horse sprang into action, galloping ahead of the Elves under his command and the Noldorin twins and Ranger.

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Several minutes into riding, the Prince stopped his mount to drop gracefully from it to the ground. The earth swelled before them – the last hill before the mountain range was verdant with the spring’s new growth. Not far from them, climbing the base of the staggering mountain where the High Pass could be found, were eight, swiftly running dark creatures.

 _Why do they travel during the day? Something has forced them into action,_ the laegel ruminated absentmindedly. Goblins avoided the day, when possible, but the promise of entertainment from a raid to pillage and torment settlements of other races sometimes drew them out during the daylight. _There are no settlements close by. They must have spotted some travellers trying to cross the mountain or they are starving and desperate._

Legolas forged ahead, trusting the others to follow him in like manner. He left Arato behind in relative safety at the bottom of the foothill so that he could sprint with his bow in hand up the slope. He kept to the short brush and scant trees, sensing rather than seeing his fellow Wood-Elves behind him, straining to keep up with his pace as he flew along the ground. Not even his marred thigh hampered his movement. Legolas’ eagerness to reach the Orcs was derived from the heady adrenaline that ran hotly through his blood and the excitement that he felt at the chance to practice the art that he had been taught from a young age – warcraft.

“Greenleaf,” came a whisper from someone very short of breath. He turned and grinned faintly upon finding the Ranger beside him. They were hidden in a straggly copse of pines barely beyond the Orcs, which was the last shelter along the mountain until beyond to where the Orcs were running.

The laegel returned his attention to the Goblins. His hatred and anger – normally a constant simmer of emotion that he maintained always for the fetid beasts of the Dark – began to boil within the Prince as old memories, fears, and loss inflamed his detestation. Now, he would be pacified only by seeing each of the Orcs dead and their black blood staining the earth. It was a passion he shared with Elladan and Elrohir, an obsession that the twins had instilled to some degree within the Ranger, and a mutual fixation between all of them. Elrohir and Elladan had lost their mother to the Grey Havens, Aragorn had lost a father whom he had never truly known, but Legolas had lost his beloved mother to death. Short of his own dying, the Prince was likely not to see her again until the end of days. Together, the Silvan, Noldor, and Adan had slain more Orcs than Legolas cared to account for, their zeal to kill acceptable to them as revenge for their losses – not just of their mothers or father, but also for the loss of friends and innocents that the chaotic, bad-hearted Orcs slaughtered wantonly.

“Greenleaf.”

The Ranger sounded insistent and worried; and so, the Elf turned back to face his lover, noting that the other Wood-Elves were hidden so well among the straggly pines that he had difficulty in locating all of them. “What is it, Estel?”

Aragorn placed a tight hand upon the Prince’s shoulder as though to hold him back until his worries were appeased. “There is no cover. How will we overtake them without their notice?”

He did not reply. The odium and revulsion he felt towards the Orcs, who were rumored to have been created from Elves when Melkor’s darkness shadowed the light of their Elven souls, spurred the Prince onwards. He fled their scant shelter without consulting the others or giving Estel any answer. Already he felt empowered; the misgivings the Ranger’s reticence incited within him, his trepidation for the imminent meeting with his father, and the helplessness that the effects of his torment wrought faded in the gratifying sensation of knowing that the Orcs ahead were doomed, to be slain by his hand or those of his capable warriors.

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Aragorn remained as he was for a short period of time, fully expecting Legolas to answer him even as he watched with surprise when the laegel ran forwards. The Woodland Prince did not give sign to the other Wood-Elves to trail him but sprinted towards the Orcs, not once looking back to ensure that they followed. Heedlessly, recklessly, or so it seemed to the Ranger, Legolas flew towards danger. It was not until an Elf passed him, followed a short moment later by another Silvan, that the Ranger was yanked from his bewilderment.

He ran, though his legs were even now tired and his breath was already coming in brief gasps. The Ranger was in excellent physical condition but his body was weary, his head pained him, and his temper was short. _I will beat him senseless,_ Estel threatened without any true intent of doing so, of course. He set his course by the blond hair that trailed behind the Prince’s head in a golden beacon as Legolas dashed uphill. Finding it hard to both watch Legolas and the ground, Aragorn gave up looking where his feet fell and trusted to fate to guide him up the slope without his falling, using all of his energy to try to reach where the Prince had just stopped with his sentries not yet to him. _Sweet Eru, Greenleaf,_ he complained bitterly, _do you plan to fight them alone?_

It appeared that the laegel meant to do just that, for although their quiet advance on the Orcs had not been noticed by the foul beasts, Legolas soon changed that. Aragorn watched with dread as the Prince let loose an arrow, and then two more, felling three of the small band of Orcs with one foray. With his sentries far behind him and Aragorn farther behind the sentries, there was none to aid the Wood-Elf in dispatching the Orcs, for there was none within range. Blind panic took hold of the Adan. He forced himself to run faster, annoyed that his legs felt heavy and his muscles ached. Legolas ducked once, neatly avoiding a black feathered arrow that was aimed for his chest. When the Prince was upright again, he was a blur of green cloth, pale flesh, and honed wood as he fired two more arrows at the Orcs. The Prince had already killed more than half the Goblins when the twins and the closest of Legolas’ sentries got close enough to help him. The Elves’ bows, notched with their brightly fletched arrows, twanged as they felled the last of the dark spawn.

The clash was over before Estel had even made it to the forefront.

Aragorn stopped running before he was to where the Elves stood. Estel hunched over when he felt bile rise in his throat. _I have pushed myself too fast,_ he thought, wishing none to see him as the urge finally overcame him and he retched his breakfast out upon the grassy hillside. He stayed bent over, fighting waves of nausea while concentrating on making the ground in front of him stop tilting.

With a trembling arm, Aragorn wiped his mouth and then rubbed his hand in the grass to clean it. The Ranger looked up and was glad to note that all of the Elves, including his brothers, were still ahead of him, scavenging their arrows from the dark creatures and seeing to each other to ascertain that no one was hurt. He walked up the hill slowly, fully aware that he was the last to arrive and that none would dare comment on it. _I am human. I cannot run as they._ He panted, his chest burned, and bright pinpoints of light flickered in his vision; and so the Ranger, not wanting all to be witness to his moment of weakness, gave in and sat on the hillside a short distance away from the Elves.

The feeling of tightness, of being unable to draw enough air into his lungs was all too familiar to him. He had experienced the same symptoms earlier that winter in Imladris. _I cannot be sick now._ His aching head, his weakened muscles, and even his foul temper were typical of his being sick – his foul temper being a product of his aching head and weakened muscles. _Not now, Ilúvatar, please. I need to go to the Greenwood with Legolas. I cannot be sick now._

“Estel?”

He looked behind him for a moment, catching the approach of Elrohir and Elladan and seeing the Wood-Elves examining the Orc bodies in the background, pulling free their salvageable arrows. Legolas was amongst them. The Prince was inspecting the shaft of one of his arrows, which was black with Orc blood. When his vision swam nauseatingly, he quickly turned back.

His eldest brother asked of him, “What is it, muindor? Are you unwell?”

“I am fine,” he lied, trying to sound convincing. He knew his brothers – the twins would not let him be if he told them he was sick. Legolas, on the other hand, might insist that he return to Imladris. This he could not do. “I am merely disappointed,” the Ranger evaded, “that I had not the chance to slay any Goblins today.”

The twins laughed, their musical cachinnation complementary to the other’s melodious jubilation in a fashion that reminded the human of many fond childhood memories; however, at the moment, the noise sent lancing pain through the Ranger’s head. He closed his eyes against the agony.

“Perhaps you should not have been so slow, human,” Elrohir teased and plopped down to the grass beside the Ranger, while Elladan sat on Aragorn’s other side.

His Elven brothers always harassed him over his mortality. Estel did not usually take offense, as he was secure in his abilities as a Ranger and had long since given up comparing himself to the hardier, abler Eldar up among whom he had grown. But now, his body failing him with human sickness, Elrohir’s jest rankled the Ranger’s nerves, and he snapped, “Perhaps if Legolas had waited for the rest of us…”

Estel did not finish his statement. His body tensed and he nearly bit his tongue in his effort to cease his complaint, which would only cause his brothers to question him. _Quiet, idiot._ He had no wish to draw his brothers into his misery.

Elladan placed his hand over the Ranger’s arm, squeezing lightly Aragorn’s muscled forearm. “What is wrong, young one? Are you and Greenleaf arguing?”

Once more, the innocent remark irked Estel, though this time he truly did bite his tongue before speaking aloud his thoughts. _I am hardly young,_ he fumed ere he realized that he was angry with his brother for caring about him.

Guiltily, he snatched a clump of grass from the ground, tore it into bits, and then threw the sharply fragrant pieces down the hillside, just to have something with which to occupy his unsteady hands. The Ranger replied while reaching for another cluster of grass, “All is fine. I was worried, that is all.”

Elrohir matched his twin’s action in placing his hand upon the other of the Adan’s forearms, saying, “Greenleaf is an accomplished warrior, Estel. He has fought more battles and slain more Orcs and spiders than any of us.”

A Silvan Elf ran past them, down the hill and towards the copse of pines where just beyond they had left their horses. “I know this.” He could not begin to make them understand. Sighing, the Ranger wiped his green stained hands upon his trousers and said what he hoped would end their conversation, “I do not want to risk losing him – that is all.”

His words had the desired effect on the twins. Elladan squeezed his arm again while Elrohir did the same on the other side, promising, “We will not lose him, Estel. We will do all that we can to see that it never happens.”

 _Let them think I only worry._ The Ranger nodded and forced himself to smile at his Elven brothers, but soon grimaced as he tried to rise to his feet. Using Elrohir’s shoulder surreptitiously to maintain his balance, he told them, “Come; let us congratulate Legolas on having mastered our lessons in archery so well.”

The cheerful twins strolled past him, their merriment returned after hearing the Ranger’s contrived excuse for his ill mood. That it was sickness and not weakness that had kept the Ranger from fighting wasn’t any consolation to him. It was his mortality, after all, that made him sick; it was his mortality that made the Prince’s sacrifice for him much more than Aragorn was willing to let the Elf forfeit.


	31. Chapter 31

Legolas felt once more in control of events around him, his abilities instilling within him the confidence he had felt before tragedy befell him. Pulling free another arrow from the Orc in front of him, he inspected the shaft only to see no apparent fault with it. Orcs lay around the plateau, their dark blood staining the ground and their revolting smell filling his awareness agreeably. The Prince ran his fingers along the arrow’s shaft, feeling the splintering he could not see. _Losing one arrow is no great loss at all,_ he thought, removing the arrowhead before discarding the short length of wood. No one had been injured, save for Oiolaire, but that had occurred before the short-lived battle, and so the laegel concluded with a satisfied smile, _No, one arrow is no loss at all._

“Congratulations, Greenleaf. All the archery lessons we gave you as Elflings have finally come to fruition.”

The laegel turned, laughing before he even saw who addressed him, for he knew Elrohir’s voice without needing to see that it was he who teased him. Approaching him were the twins and Ranger, the former grinning while the latter kept his eyes on the ground, his face contorted in concentration. Legolas’ smile fell, for he was immediately cognizant of the human’s foul mood. In reply to Elrohir’s jest, he repeated the topic of his thoughts before the brothers’ approach, “All that is lost is one arrow.” When the Noldor stared at him, uncomprehending, the laegel added quickly, “If I had followed your lessons, Elrohir, we would be arrowless until Mirkwood.”

Elladan’s supercilious snickers caused Legolas to smile offhandedly, for he knew he had started the age-old argument as to who was the better archer between the twins. The elder Noldo proceeded to annoy his younger twin with his agreement, “Well said, Greenleaf!”

The remark would not go uncontested by Elrohir but the ensuing spat was stalled by the sound of pounding hoof beats. Legolas looked past the twin Noldor’s broad shoulders to see that the sentry sent to retrieve the horses had returned. _We should leave immediately. I should like to be on the other side of the mountain before nightfall._

In concern for his sentry, Legolas inquired, “Oiolaire will be well to travel?”

Abruptly staid by the topic, Elrohir confirmed, “He will be well enough to travel. The arrow did not go deep…”

“…nor do we think that it was poisoned, but we will keep watch over it,” Elladan added.

Legolas nodded, pleased to hear that his sentry would incur no lasting effects from the wound. He prepared to call to Kalin to arrange for departure, only to find that the sentry was already giving the order to leave, obviously having sensed and approved of his Prince’s desire to depart quickly. The twins wandered away, happily continuing their argument while they mounted their horses. The Prince watched them with amusement, realizing that the Noldor’s joyful bickering was heightened with their satiation in the Orcs’ deaths, a satisfaction that he felt, as well. His mood was lightened, his limbs were still tingling with the adrenaline of battle, and his heart was racing in a steady pattern from his sprint up the hill. Through the bandaging, Legolas scratched his wounded thigh absently, relieving the itch that his running had created as it stretched the injury.

His relief did not last long, for Aragorn stepped close to him, catching Legolas’ hand to wrench it away from the laegel’s thigh. “What does it say now?”

The Prince was taken aback, as his mind and attention had been on the foggy mountaintop before them, which was still in the shadow of the rising morning sun in the east, but the concern on the Ranger’s face evidenced of what the human spoke. “Nothing. The scar says nothing. It is quiet and has been since early yesterday morning.” Ineffectually, Legolas tried to pull his hand free, for the Ranger’s grip was painfully secure, his calloused hand wrapped too tightly around the Elf’s wrist. The human did not relinquish his hold. “Estel.” For a few moments more the Ranger held the laegel’s hand and gaze, the man’s silver eyes boring into Legolas’ cobalt ones until the Prince’s hand felt numb and he repeated, “It is well, Estel. It bothers me only in that it itches.”

The Ranger loosened his hold, dropping his head and saying nothing. Neither of them was aware of the audience of sentries that were mounted, ready to leave. Aragorn took the Elf’s hand between his, rubbing it gently as he said, “I am sorry, Greenleaf. I did not mean to hurt you.”

 _I would that he had stayed in Imladris,_ the laegel decided with a guilty sigh, believing the Ranger’s moodiness to be the strain he caused the human. Letting the Ranger continue to rub the feeling back into his hand, the Prince allowed his head to fall forwards, resting his forehead on top of the Ranger’s bowed head.

He pulled away immediately, his words of acceptance to the Ranger’s apology forgotten as he discerned the heat that exuded from his lover. “Estel, you are burning,” he whispered, raising his free hand to feel the side of the Ranger’s face.

This hand the human also captured ere it had reached the Ranger’s cheek; he added it to Legolas’ other, holding them together as he lightly massaged circles in them. He assured, “I am only flushed from the sprint up the hill. It will pass.”

“Prince Legolas, we should not linger here in the open any longer.”

The Wood-Elf now felt the eyes of his sentries and the twins upon them, but it was not until he turned to acknowledge Kalin’s interruption that he noticed that all his sentries were watching Aragorn and he with thinly veiled concern and sadness.

“Come Estel.”

He removed one hand from the Ranger’s grasp and used the other to draw the human forwards with him to where their horses were waiting. Fighting the urge to glare at his sentries in frustration, Legolas avoided looking at them altogether, for he did not want to see their sorrow for him or their concern for his relationship with Estel. When they stood before Aragorn’s horse, he left the Ranger to mount and hurried to his own horse so that they could depart. The procession of Elves and human began their journey anew, making their way up the mountain quietly.

Legolas stewed. As usual, the sentries surrounded him on all sides, leaving him, Aragorn, and the twins in the middle of an irregular circle of Elven flesh for protection. It also precluded private conversation between the foursome, though their environment kept them quiet, regardless. Even during the day, the mountains harbored danger much more intelligent than the small band of Orcs they had crossed earlier, so the wayfarers maintained a minimum of conversation. Kalin’s desire to be over the crest of the mountain before nightfall concurred with Legolas’ such that they kept their pace quick, slowing only to rest the horses. The rests were few and far between, and they did not dismount the entire day except to let the horses drink from a brook while they stretched their legs for a few minutes. Filling their flasks with the fresh water, the Elves and human did not speak much or often, but the silence was not uncomfortable.

When they were mounted again, the sun had settled in the distant sky, where from his perspective on the mountain, it looked to Legolas that it would have lit the Grey Havens, had not the mist of the mountain kept him from seeing the ocean beyond. Legolas passed the time by distracting himself with their elongating shadows on the ground and inspecting each rock, cloud, tree and shrub they passed; that is, until his thoughts slipped inevitably back to his concern for the Ranger and for what would occur in Mirkwood.

 _He acts strangely, more so than usual,_ the laegel ruminated, glancing to the uncommunicative human. _I can think of nothing that could have upset him, lest I have done him some wrong._ Aragorn would not meet his eyes, but kept his gaze downwards at the barely visible trail underfoot.

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He longed to sleep. Twice he had almost fallen from the saddle; his balance he maintained only because his horse, sadly enough, had grown accustomed to its master being either injured or sleeping while riding. Twice he had stroked the steed’s neck lovingly and appreciatively, thanking the faithful equine for keeping him from tumbling to the rocky ground. Twice he had prayed that none had seen his near fall.

They were traversing a flat part of the mountain – a shortcut that was open only when the ice was not melting from the higher elevations. Had they left Imladris any later, they would have needed to follow along the well-worn path traveling higher into the mountains – a necessity that would have added several days onto their journey – but the ice and snow on the mountaintop above them were not yet thawed, for the air was still crisp with the winter’s chill. In a few weeks, the narrow stone bridge that they now crossed would be invisible. The runoff of melted snow and ice created an engorged, fast running tributary that would conceal the bridge under its waterfall as it ran off the cliff above and eventually found its way into the Bruinen.

 _Stay awake,_ the Ranger warned himself.

On either side of him was a sheer drop into the valley below. They rode in single file, with Estel in front of his brothers and a few sentries and the Prince riding ahead of them, while the rest of the Silvan were already across the bridge, their bows at ready and their eyes scanning the narrow gorge for danger. In wistful, dark amusement, the sick Adan told himself, _I would never live it down if I fell off the bridge to my death just because I was asleep in the saddle._ He held his back straight to keep himself aware and snorted in delirious hilarity. His eyes burned and he wanted to close them against the cold air. Shivers crawled along his flesh even as he sweated; the beads of perspiration trailed down his back. The heat and damp caused his dark hair to curl against his face; he pushed it out of his eyes, keeping his focus on Legolas’ dark green cloak and trusting his horse to find footing on the slender rock protrusion.

He hardly noticed when his mare stopped to wait for the rest of their company to cross the bridge. It wasn’t until later, when the Ranger caught himself from slipping from the saddle for a third time, that Aragorn saw that the night was fully upon them. _We are far from the bridge,_ the human derided himself, displeased that he had been asleep for so long. He could not take the chance that any of the Elves – especially the twins or Legolas – would see him out of sorts. They would know immediately that he was ill. His brothers and the Silvan Prince were well acquainted with human illness, as they had suffered through it with him, albeit only sympathetically. _Legolas had not the opportunity or the reason to believe I was sick before, but he will not be so unobservant a second time._ The Ranger wanted to be well on their way to Mirkwood before any knew that he was sick – the farther from Imladris before he was discovered, the less likely they would try to send him back. Or so he hoped.

They did not cease moving. The Wood-Elves would have preferred not to stop until they were out of the open, rocky terrain and in a place with trees nearby. However, their pace slowed and they merely ambled down the slopes towards shelter. Aragorn could nearly make out the tree line in the far distance through the mist around them when Kalin drew his horse to a stop near an outcropping jutting several feet from the mountainside. It would be sparse shelter for the night, to be certain. To keep out the chill, the Ranger pulled his overcoat tighter around him as he dismounted his tired mare.

With a sigh of relief, he rejoiced, _Ai Ilúvatar. Sleep at last._

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As had Estel, Legolas took note of the tree line of Eryn Galen on the horizon. Now that they had crossed the mountain to travel down its opposite side, the future seemed to lay before him – as inevitable and looming as the dim shadow of his homeland in the distance. _It will be less than a week now._ Watching the activity of the makeshift campsite, he sat on the relatively flat top of a small boulder with his legs dangling over its lip.

The twins had grabbed Oiolaire the moment the Silvan had dismounted and were currently haranguing the poor Elf because the fair-haired sentry had not told them that his injury was paining him. Legolas stifled the urge to laugh as Oiolaire shot him a pleading look, apparently hoping that his Prince would save him from the identical terrors plying him with a foul looking elixir that would ease his discomfort and quicken his healing. Legolas sympathetically shook his head at Oiolaire to tell him silently that he would not come to his sentry’s aid. To be well, Oiolaire needed the herbs and tending that the twins were giving him.

Down the mountain a short ways, there laid a verdant spread of evergreen trees; their fragrance drifted to the laegel as he wondered over the Ranger. Aragorn sat on his bedroll, rubbing his temples idly and watching the twins warily, as if Estel were happy that he was not the center of their curative attention. The outcropping under which they were camped offered them some shelter from the driving winds that blew over the mountain – winds that were especially icy this time of year. The Ranger was huddled as far under the outcropping as he could get with his cloak wrapped around him securely. First, the human would rub his forehead, his eyes would slide shut before he wrenched them open again, and finally, Estel would peer about the camp in anxious fretting, before the cycle repeated.

 _He is exhausted,_ the Elf worried. _It is unlike him to be so worn so soon in the journey._ The Ranger’s stamina did not seem up to bar and the laegel was determined to find out why. _I will ask him tomorrow morning. Tonight I will let him sleep._

When the twins were finished with Oiolaire, the sentry exhaled noisily in obvious relief while Elladan and Elrohir repacked their satchels. Legolas watched in amusement as Oiolaire nodded his head a bit too eagerly in agreement to the demands the twin Noldor were making of him in the hopes that they would leave him be. Legolas hopped off the boulder, taking a moment to stretch his arms leisurely over his head before approaching the twins. “Elladan, Elrohir. Will you do me the favor of seeing to this healing wound on my thigh?”

The twins paused in repacking their healing items. Both were fleetingly speechless with surprise that the Prince had asked them to aid him instead of Estel, but before they could answer, a morose Aragorn inserted, “I will see to it.”

Elladan and Elrohir traded an indiscernible look before smiling kindly at the laegel, rising, and then walking away, sitting their satchels and themselves next to the other Elves gathered around their meager meal of more cured venison and hard bread. The Prince waited patiently for his human lover to stand – an act that seemed to take much effort on the Ranger’s part. Grabbing his own satchel of herbs and bandages, Aragorn stalked off from the outcropping, expecting the laegel to follow him.

_Valar, this foul mood is only getting worse._

But the Elf trailed without complaint, matching the Ranger’s fast pace away from the others. They walked underneath the outcropping while following a natural curve in the mountain’s side until they were out of sight of the Prince’s sentries and the Ranger’s brothers, though they remained under the shelter of the stone ledge overhead. Aragorn tossed his bag to the rocky ground ere he turned to face the Elf. Without introduction, the Ranger asked, “Why were you buying pipe-weed in Lake-town?”

The startled Prince first questioned why the Ranger asked him this and then wondered how the human knew of his reason for venturing into Lake-town those many weeks ago. _Elrond. Of course. I told Minyatar and he has told Estel._

“I was buying the pipe-weed for you,” Legolas explained patiently, for he was willing to answer the human’s questions if it appeased his inexplicable annoyance, “to make up for pasting ribbons on your pipe.”

Estel seemed to digest this information. He nodded but then asked, “What of Mithfindl?”

Again, the Ranger’s abrupt and seemingly unrelated, painful choice of topics startled the Elf. Legolas unclasped his cloak, shaking it in the air and spreading it out over the stone and rubble littered ground. “What of him?”

The Prince sat on the cloak and stared up at the human until Estel sat, also. Untying the knot at his trousers, the Wood-Elf unlaced them quickly. Although he had teased the Ranger that they could spend each night in pleasure while using his need to have his injury tended as an excuse for them to be alone, they both knew that here on the mountain was not the ideal place for such exploits; and so, it was without sexual intent that the Prince pulled his trousers over his thigh to expose the wound to his lover.

The human seemed puzzled as to what to do next, or perhaps what to say to Legolas’ question. “You told me that you consented, but you did not tell me what happened.”

Legolas looked up at the sky. He had always admired the vastness of the stars from the higher elevations of the Misty Mountains. When he heard the Ranger searching through his satchel, the Prince replied, “I guess there is much I have yet to tell you.” Not responding, the healer doused a cloth with water and carefully began washing the laegel’s thigh. “After we left the archery range, I went into the forest for peace, which is where Mithfindl found me. He wanted to know why I was bedding a mortal.”

His words seemed to affect the Ranger, though Legolas didn’t understand why. Aragorn only asked, “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I tried to evade him but he threw me to the ground.” Pausing, the Elf tried to gather a way to explain to the Ranger why he had consented, because he knew he had given little explanation to Aragorn when telling him of it the first time. While Estel smeared a cream over the pink-edged scar, Legolas explicated, “By accident, he gouged my wound, silencing its voice, its words similar to what vile things Mithfindl was accusing me of.” His voice grew softer as he remembered, “I found no satisfaction in his words or deeds, except that the scar was quiet and I felt neither pain nor fear of returning to face my father’s wrath.”

Estel unbound a roll of linen. “And what if Glorfindel hadn’t come along? What if the twins had not been searching for you?”

There lay no censure or blame in the Ranger’s questions, but Legolas felt his ears burn with shame. “I do not know. I could not fight him off at the end and may not have been able to do so. Had not Glorfindel arrived, I do not know what would have happened, though it would have been much more than a few bruises and bite marks.”

The Ranger stopped winding the linen around the Elf’s thigh, appearing relieved to hear the laegel’s answer ere his brow furrowed with an emotion the Wood-Elf could not place. “You tried to fight him off?”

As much as the Prince would like to have assured his lover that he had fought Mithfindl because of what the Noldo was doing to him, or because he had not desired the warrior’s perverse affection any longer, Legolas admitted, “Not until he spoke ill of you. Somehow his words against you came through when nothing else would.”

“Nothing more happened?” Aragorn looked down and began winding the linen once again, tucking the end into the taut fabric around the Prince’s thigh to keep it fastened.

He answered simply, “No.”

Unaware of why the Ranger was asking him these questions, the Elf reminded himself, _I promised him that we would speak of these things during our journey. Now is as good a time as any._ They sat wordlessly for a few moments. Legolas pulled his trousers back over his hips, lacing and tying them without a sound.

While the Ranger replaced the articles he had removed from his satchel, the Prince studied the Adan to notice Estel’s glassy gaze and flushed face. “Are you well?”

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Thrusting his waterskin into his bag, the Ranger scowled at the Wood-Elf, saying, “I am fine.” Truly, the Ranger’s flesh felt afire, he could barely keep himself awake, and his irritation at being sick was increasing his sore mood. “What did my father say of the scar?”

Changing the subject was the only way Aragorn could find to avoid the topic of his well-being; however, like the Wood-Elf, the Ranger had also seen the ominous Mirkwood forest stretching out in their future. His worry would not abate until he knew what his father had told the laegel, what Legolas expected from his own father, and what the Prince would say to Thranduil – especially in regards to his edict for restitution to Kane. The less pertinent but nagging question was answered as to how far Legolas’ encounter with Mithfindl had gone, though the response did not allay the Ranger’s terror for the effects of the scar on the Prince.

Legolas appeared to be thinking, and so the healer wrapped his overcoat about his body once more, seeking to hide the shivers that wracked him with each gust of wind. Finally, the laegel answered, “Elrond told me that he does not know what malady this scar has become.” Estel watched the Prince place his hand over his scarred thigh and he waited at ready to interfere should Legolas begin to torment it. “It is not an aftereffect of the poison or some form of sorcery. It is me.” Taking a deep breath, the Wood-Elf stared at the sky. “Minyatar said that I am the cause of this continuing affliction.”

Instinctively scooting closer to the Prince for warmth, the Ranger asked, “How is this so?”

With a sad grin, the Elf grabbed one of the human’s hands. He twisted his fingers between Estel’s digits. “I have yet to confront what has happened to me. I have yet to heal. The foul words the scar speaks, its hatred and its condemnation, are mine.”

The explanation begged the question; more difficulties arose from Legolas’ answer than were answered. “What do we do?”

Legolas brought the Ranger’s hand to his lips, kissing the human’s knuckles ere he said, “I came back for you, Estel. While that has kept me from fading from grief, Elrond said that my love for you is merely palliative. Nothing will cure this malady except facing my grief.” It was clear to the Ranger that the Prince spoke of more than just his past, but also of his future and of his imminent confrontation with the Elvenking and the merchant, Kane.

The Adan’s irritation fled him with the feeling of how insignificant his illness was compared to Legolas’ suffering. The Ranger leant forward, using his free arm to wrap around the laegel’s waist to draw him nearer. Laying his head on top of Legolas’ golden hair, the Ranger realized his mistake when the Prince brought his hand up to feel Aragorn’s cheek, his face alight with alarm. 


	32. Chapter 32

“Estel,” the laegel exclaimed softly, “you are sick.” Legolas withdrew from the Ranger’s embrace, placed both his palms against the human’s cheeks, and said, “The heat from your skin could start a brushfire.”

Aragorn pulled his face out of the Elf’s hands. _Wonderful._

His foul mood returned, the Adan’s bitterness slipped into his words without his intending for it to do so. “Humans are pathetic and prone to illness. It is nothing; it will pass.”

The Prince stood in one fluid motion, his hand already offered to help the man do the same. “It will not pass, not if you keep your illness to yourself. Have you not told me this very thing in recent weeks?”

Understanding the allusion to his telling Legolas not to hide from him – not his physical injuries nor mental anguish – the Ranger felt properly chastised for hiding his sickness from the laegel. He growled in frustration, an unenthusiastic apology on his lips, but the light, merry laughter of the Wood-Elf stayed his excuses. He stared in disbelief at the Prince and did not take the proffered hand that was still extended, ready to help him stand.

Estel asked with a rancor that normally he would never direct at the laegel, “Does my illness amuse you?”

Immediately, the Ranger rued speaking to his lover in such a way, for letting his sickness-induced foul temper overcome his better sense. _You are not angry with Greenleaf, fool; do not take your anger out on him._

Prepared to apologize for a second time, he was again interrupted by the Prince’s laughter. “No, your illness does not amuse me. _You_ amuse me, Estel. In all the years I have known you,” the Elf stated drolly, crouching before the Ranger until they were face to face, “you have always been a grumpy patient, but never more so than when you are sick from some human illness.”

A long moment passed with the Ranger glaring at the grinning Wood-Elf; as hard as Estel tried to retain his surliness, the Prince’s beaming countenance incited the human to shake his head, helpless but to return the beautiful Elf’s smile. “If I am grumpy, then it is merely because I am tired of this human weakness.”

“Weakness?” The laegel straightened the man’s cloak and pulled it more tightly around the Ranger. “Sickness is a part of your being human. It is no weakness.”

Snorting in self-derision, the Ranger declared, “It is a failing. Humans are doomed by their weakness to die.”

The Elf stared at him without emotion, but it was obvious that Legolas did not understand Aragorn’s insinuation. It was as though the Prince did not realize what he was giving up in choosing a human mate, and this angered the man more than his sickness. _He does not care – not even should my passing send him into despair._ The human did not feel worthy of such veneration.

Still crouched before the Ranger, the Elf asked, his eyes glinting dangerously in the low light, “Why did you hide your sickness? You were flushed this morning, though you said it was merely from exertion.”

He did not want to discuss this. His whole body craved sleep. The Wood-Elf did not relent. Just a short while of the Elf’s expectant, persistent gaze was enough to make the Ranger finally answer, “I did not want to be sent back to Rivendell.”

Legolas did not appear surprised to hear the Adan’s explanation. “As well you would have, Estel. As well you may yet. Do you think your brothers will let you continue to the Greenwood while you are sick?” Not waiting for a reply, the laegel continued, sighing in irritation as he stood to look towards the camp, thought it was beyond the curve in the mountainside and out of sight, “They will be livid that you have kept this from them.” Stooping down in front of the Ranger again, Legolas grabbed the man’s arm and pulled Aragorn from the ground. “Why would you not tell us?”

The Ranger stood in silence, facing the vast, dark horizon of Mirkwood in the distance while the Prince gathered his cloak. “I do not want to lose you.”

As he shook the rocks and twigs from his cloak, the laegel stopped mid-swing, his hair flying around his face in a final gust from the waving cloth. The Prince finally understood. Estel wanted to travel with him regardless of the consequences to himself because he would rather chance his own health than chance missing out on being of aid to the Silvan during his time of need. “You risk too much for me.”

_These are the things I ought to be telling you Greenleaf, not you telling me._

“No,” the Ranger denied, saying his thoughts aloud, “You risk too much for me. You choose a human. A weak, sick mortal.”

Legolas seemed to move too quickly for the Ranger to see; one moment the Elf was belting his quiver over his cloak, the next he stood in front of Aragorn, his hands clutching the Ranger’s upper arms. “Your father told me you would be my salvation.” Slipping his arms over the human’s shoulders, the Wood-Elf embraced the Ranger, who leant into the hug, its warmth and comfort as soothing to his sickness as any concoction the twins would later make him drink. With his head tucked under the Prince’s chin, Estel wrapped his arms around the Elf, breathing in the Wood-Elf’s scent. “I do not love you _in spite_ of your being mortal, Estel. I love you _because_ of it. It is as much a part of you as leaves are a part of trees, as the stars and moon are a part of the night.”

Although his voice was slightly muffled against the Wood-Elf’s chest, the Ranger responded, his teeth chattering with his fever’s chills, “But I will die. What then?”

“I will pass into the Undying Lands, or I will fade from grief.” With no sadness or resentment in his voice, the Prince explained with a promise, “I came back from my grief to be with you. There will be no life for me after you.”

This scared the Ranger the most. “I do not deserve you.”

The Elf merely pressed his lips to the top of the human’s head. They stood as they were for several more moments. The issue was hardly resolved for Aragorn, but the Prince had made a promise and the laegel did not give his word lightly. Trying to keep his chattering teeth from breaking as they slammed against each other, the Ranger burrowed into the Elf’s warmth, his anger dissolved into the overpowering need to sleep. He had nothing to hide any longer, not his sickness or his feelings, and his bedroll called to him.

“Come.” Releasing Aragorn, who shivered at the sudden loss of warmth, Legolas picked up the Ranger’s bag, proclaiming, “Let us get the twins’ ranting out of the way so that we may get some rest tonight.”

The idea of rest appealed to the Ranger greatly, and so he walked after the Prince. _I do not look forward to the twins._

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 _I bet he is glad that Elladan and Elrohir are no longer hovering over him,_ the Prince mused, watching Oiolaire smile as the twins worried over the Ranger. From his seat in front of the human and two Elven brothers, the laegel could tell that Aragorn would rather have been listening to Lord Elrond reproving him than the twins, both of whom, much like their father, did not mind letting their judgment be heard – audience or not. Legolas had not mentioned to Elrohir and Elladan that the Ranger had hid his sickness; that the Ranger was sick was enough to send the twins into a state of panic, and Legolas already felt sorry for Aragorn, as the Noldor were tending the Adan and scolding him in turns. _I bet they are all glad that the twins are occupied,_ Legolas amended, seeing the rest of the sentries smile at the Ranger’s plight.

While human sickness was something that was foreign to the Wood-Elf, as he had never been sick except through poisoned arrow or blade, or from injury, Legolas had been around Estel many times when the human was ill; he vaguely knew what herbs that Elladan had ground into a fine powder, adding into the wooden mortar a bit of miruvor before forcing it down the Ranger’s throat. He knew the smell of the paste that Elrohir smeared across Estel’s throat, a salve that Legolas had been told would help the Ranger breathe. Knowing little of healing, the laegel merely watched, his own worries hidden behind a cheery, calm façade, which was a pretense for the Ranger’s benefit.

Aragorn, for his part, was taking his Elven brothers’ lectures with an amazing amount of self-control. Facing the Woodland Prince, the human would try to glare at his brothers, to be irritated with Elladan and Elrohir’s attentions, but Legolas held the Ranger’s gaze, and his affectionate, teasing smile kept Estel from lashing out at his brothers in retaliation for the caring, albeit condescending way in which they ordered about the Ranger. Legolas watched the human’s eyes slide shut, his silver orbs becoming unfocused and the man’s head bobbing forward, his gaunt, bearded face falling slack before he would awake only to nod off again.

_He is exhausted. Have I worried too much over my own troubles not to see how this strains Estel?_

“…and if you would not mind, dear brother, please do not become any sicker.” Taking his bedroll in hand, Elrohir ended his turn of tirade by draping it over the Ranger’s head and then bunching the cloth around Aragorn’s neck in semblance of another cloak. Legolas would have added his own bedroll to help keep the Ranger warm, but it was already in use. They had laid Legolas’ bedroll on top of Estel’s in an attempt to keep the Adan from lying on the cold ground.

Kalin knelt beside Legolas, his own sleeping mat in hand. “Here, my Prince.”

Grateful for his thoughtful sentry, the Prince laid the roll next to Aragorn’s, where the twins were finally letting the Ranger lie down. Immediately, the human’s eyes slipped shut, the relief of being able to rest apparent in the slight smile on the Adan’s face. Legolas lay down on his side facing Estel; ere the Wood-Elf had even settled, the Ranger repositioned himself and rolled his blanket-encased body into his lover’s embrace.

“Rest, brothers. I will keep watch over Estel,” Elladan said from where he sat on the ground at the top of the bedrolls. Elrohir lay next to the Ranger, his eyes meeting Legolas’ over the man’s head as they both scooted closer to Estel to share their warmth.

 _I might not be the only one to pass if Estel were to leave Arda,_ the laegel thought, seeing the blatant fear behind Elrohir’s calm demeanor.

He had never seen the Ranger this chilled before. Estel’s talk of his mortality frightened the Prince. He had not lied to Aragorn earlier when telling the Ranger that his being human was something he loved about him. It was not a complex issue for the Elf. If the Ranger died, so too would he.


	33. Chapter 33

Legolas was roused by Elrohir’s gentle prodding. He had not truly been asleep – merely lost in his thoughts – and was thus alarmed immediately at the identical, panicked appearances of his friends of many years. Other than the labored breathing of the Ranger around whom he was still wrapped, the Prince heard neither signs of danger nor the movement of Elves.

“Wake up, Greenleaf.”

Not wishing to leave his lover’s side, the laegel remained lying as he was when Elladan added to his twin’s demand, “Estel only gets worse. We cannot rouse him from his febrile sleep to give him water.”

_Sweet Eru._

The Wood-Elf looked down at the human face tilted towards his chest. Aragorn appeared no better or worse than when Legolas had first lain down next to him. He trusted the twins’ knowledge of illness implicitly, however, and so promised, “I will send sentries back to Imladris with you.”

_I do not want them to travel alone._

The Noldor shared a look, deciding wordlessly amongst the two of them what they would do, ere Elrohir rejected the Prince’s offer, saying, “Let us go on to your father's halls, but let us leave quickly. The sooner we are off this cold mountain with its bitter wind, the better.”

 _They do not want me to go to Eryn Galen without them,_ the laegel thought, watching Elladan shove items back into his satchel; the Noldo’s rushed movements made Legolas’ decision for him. He would rather that they take Estel back to the valley but he also knew that the twins would not be dissuaded from their chosen course. More than likely, Elladan and Elrohir also knew that Legolas would direly need his lover’s presence in the coming days, which would without doubt be distressing for the Prince.

“We will leave at once,” the laegel declared, reluctant to remove himself from the Ranger’s shivering frame but doing so nonetheless. He had barely stood when Kalin stepped to his side, walking the short distance to the horses with his Prince. It did not surprise the Wood-Elf to find his friendly, competent head sentry awake and ready to receive instruction. Normally, Legolas did not enjoy ordering his subjects to do his bidding but he had no qualms when he demanded of Kalin, “We depart immediately. Make sure the others know that we will not stop until we have reached home.”

His faithful sentry nodded before hurrying away to where those sentries not on watch were resting peacefully. Legolas began shifting the baggage from Elrohir’s horse to Aragorn’s, rearranging the Ranger’s saddle so that it could carry the considerably lighter burden of bags of clothes and herbs. The Prince knew that the twins would take turns riding with the Ranger, each keeping watch over him so that neither of their horses would become too tired.

 _It will make the ride shorter if he rode between the three of us,_ the Wood-Elf decided, removing his own bags and placing them on Aragorn’s mount as well, though he realized that his need to have the Ranger near him was the true reason behind this choice. The camp around him bustled in hurried but speechless activity. Legolas’ personal guards had ridden with Aragorn before, and though they personally understood little of human sickness, they knew enough of humans to understand that urgency was required.

“I will ride with him first.” Elrohir vaulted onto his horse without waiting for rebuttal; his twin handed the bundled, sleeping Ranger up to him.

Aragorn’s horse snorted air into Legolas’ hair as though questioning the Wood-Elf why her master was not riding her. He rubbed the long equine nose in sympathy, as fond of the Ranger’s horse as he was of his own. Not bothering to tie Aragorn’s horse to another, as the steed would follow Aragorn whether he rode her or not, the Prince watched the last of his sentries mount their own horses as he did the same. Arato fell into step behind the twins’ nearly identical horses; Legolas followed the Noldor down the mountainside in the resentful light of a waning moon.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unaware of what was occurring, the Ranger lightly slept on, his muddled, feverish mind allowing him little use of his senses or body – save for his nose, which wrinkled up in confusion. The gentle smell of bergamot and evergreen had left his side. In some part of his mind, he knew that this meant Legolas was no longer beside him, but the cause and the effect did not seem destined to meet in Aragorn’s thinking, and his nose quickly gave up its effort of ascertaining where he was.

 _Moving. We are moving._ Managing to open his heavy lids for a brief moment, the Ranger found he could see little except the ebony colored coat of what he immediately recognized as one of the twin’s horses. His worries slid away from him with this recognition; he was in the hands of his brothers and they would let no harm come to him. _Where is Greenleaf?_ The bothersome thought gave him pause, but his febrile reckoning could not retain it, and he slipped back into a fitful sleep.

He woke again to the feeling of being lifted and found himself momentarily suspended in the air. His arms fell limp behind him, dangling like heavy weights that ballasted his seemingly weightless body from floating away. He tried to pull them back – his limbs would not respond. He was soon in another’s lap, however, and this new someone kindly gathered his wayward arms, replacing them comfortably at his side once more.

He wondered briefly who held him, but Elladan’s soft whisper told him. “Rest, Estel. We will be in Mirkwood soon.”

How much time elapsed he didn’t know. He awoke for brief spells – enough to take broth and pass water, before falling back into sleep and waking again to the same bowl of broth, though hours had sped by in between without his being aware. The insistent ache of his every muscle and bone made the toil of thinking, much less staying awake, too hard for the Ranger to care to find out. Unable to return to his erratic but peaceful slumber, Aragorn let the relief of no longer being in control wash over him; he let go of his worries and relished the freedom of being at his loving brothers' mercy. There were few whom he trusted thusly, and normally his pride and survival instinct would keep him from allowing himself to show such weakness in front of others, but the lure of deep sleep called to him. He could not find it. Dread filled him and he could not rest.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his teeth throbbed from their incessant chattering, and his eyes were hid behind his heavy, aching lids. His nose alerted him of his change in seating ere his lax body noticed. The Ranger inhaled deeply, holding the scent of the Wood-Elf in his lungs as though trying to retain the essence within him. The strong arms around him felt differently; unlike his brothers’ firm hold round his stomach, Legolas held the human with one arm wrapped round his waist, his hand resting intimately in Estel’s lap atop the Ranger’s folded hands. With his other arm slipped under the cloth blanketing the Ranger, the laegel’s left arm pressed Aragorn flush to the Elf’s chest. It took all of the Ranger’s concentration to lift his chin from off his chest. He leant his head back, intending to open his eyes so that he could see the Wood-Elf, to assuage the indeterminable fear that plagued him that despite the Elf's promise, Legolas might leave him. He still could not open his eyes and his head fell back against the Prince’s shoulder.

But the Wood-Elf seemed to understand. Legolas pressed a chaste kiss to the Ranger’s forehead, his lips cool against the man’s burning flesh. The nagging thought that kept him from sleep was inexplicably resolved; the Ranger’s thoughts gave way to healing slumber.

Aragorn’s life was a confusing cycle of half-lucid moments, of wake and worry, until the interchanging arms holding him would finally move him back to Legolas and he would find slumber and relief once again.


	34. Chapter 34

For three days, they had ridden non-stop, without pause for a meal more substantial than lembas or sleep more restful than that which they found while astride their horses. The Prince eyed the ominous rain clouds hovering over them, threatening to pour cold rain upon their heads. _Do not rain just yet,_ he pled with them. _We will make home in less than an hour. Leave us be until then._

Elrohir held his human brother in his arms as they rode. The Ranger mumbled incoherently in his sleep, making his own unintelligible pleas to the worried Elves around him. Legolas had never seen the Ranger so sick, and though the twins had assured the laegel that in the last three days the fever had lessened and Estel was now recuperating, the Wood-Elf’s heart beat wildly in his chest in panic each time the Ranger groaned in pain from his unrelenting bouts of coughing.

Aragorn would not waken entirely. When the border guard had intercepted them several hours ago, there had been a racket of delighted welcomes by the guards when they saw their Prince and fellow warriors alive and ostensibly well; the Ranger still had not woken. Not even the deafening claps of thunder from overhead caused the human to stir. For a few moments at a time, the human had been almost aware, or at least enough so to take water, some medicines the twins had mixed, and be helped to relieve his bladder. But those times were few and never for long, and even though Estel seemed to be getting better and those moments of half-sentience growing, the human was still exhausted and prone to sleeping without their being able to wake him.

 _You could not wait._ Turning his face up to the sky, where the moon and stars were hidden behind the dark clouds, the laegel sighed as the first drops of what would be a heavy storm pelted his exposed skin. _Wonderful._ Without colluding with the other Elves around him, the Prince prodded the exhausted Arato into a gallop, prompting his companions to do the same. Without the natural light of night to guide them, the Elves let the sounds of the forest steer them through the trees to the stronghold. Legolas could hear the Forest River up ahead, its lazy current a signal. _I am sorry, Arato,_ he apologized to his horse, patting his neck in encouragement as the horse hurried onwards. _The quicker we are home the sooner you may rest._

The ride through Mirkwood had been purgatory for the Wood-Elf, as he both dreaded arriving home but also wanted to reach the halls of his father for the Ranger’s sake. Each time he had been handed the feverish human, Legolas’ trepidation had grown, as had his understanding of what strain his own suffering must have had on Aragorn. To see the usually strong, vigorous human in a state of unending, tormented sleep pained the Wood-Elf. Legolas knew the Ranger had undergone the same experience after Legolas had been attacked – except Estel had not had the twins or a group of capable sentries helping to tend the fallen Prince.

The great gates were open before them when they broke through the tree line at the river. Silvan Elves who had homes inside the mountain fortress rather than out in the surrounding woods were running into the stronghold to be out of the storm, but they stopped, heedless of the pelting rain, to watch their Prince gallop across the bridge and through the gates. He could feel their disbelief and adoration wash over him, their concern and censure, their confusion and hope. He was the pariah Prince returned home, ostracized by both those who loved him and those that would see him fall.

Dismounting before Arato had even stopped, Legolas let an Elf from the stables lead the fatigued mount away as he addressed the Noldor, “Take Estel to the healers. I will greet my father for you and join you shortly. The healers will give you whatever you need.”

Elladan nodded though he did not appear pleased. Pulling free his twin’s baggage and his own from Aragorn’s horse, the elder twin gave the Wood-Elf a plaintive, meaningful smile of encouragement before following the Ranger-laden Elrohir from the courtyard. The twins sprinted in their haste, their desire to get their human brother inside where it was dry and warm foremost in their shared cognition. He watched them round the archway leading to the healers before walking away himself.

Kalin abruptly fell into step beside him, asking, “Shall I accompany you, my Prince? King Thranduil may desire a report from me.”

Terror twisted the Wood-Elf’s muscles into quivering, tense, and unnatural motions. His skin crawled. He feared facing his father; Legolas knew his sentry sensed this. “No, Kalin.” Stopping, the Prince grabbed his sentry’s forearm, smiling falsely at the guard. “It is late. I will see him alone, and if he has need of a report, then you can see him in the morning.”

He did not need to explain why the late hour would not be the best time for Kalin to appear with the Prince for an audience with the King. All of Mirkwood had heard the gossip over the multitude of years about Thranduil’s increasing penchant for wine; few knew of the effects of his drinking, for few saw him in such a drunken state, but Kalin had seen the physical effects of Thranduil’s drinking in both the King’s declining health and the marks and bruises on his son. The sentry smiled sadly at Legolas, adding unknowingly to the Prince’s feeling of being a foreigner in his own home. Kalin returned his Prince’s grip tightly before bowing and walking out of the great hall, leaving Legolas to walk alone through the throne room and to the long hallway that meandered through his father’s wing of the vast, underground palace.

Using the same fake smile he had given Kalin, Legolas greeted the guards at the hallway’s entrance, and though they inclined their heads in respect, neither met the laegel’s gaze. _It appears that everyone knows of what has happened._ As expected, since no one without being called by Thranduil to come would be inside the hall, no Elves milled about the private passage and the Prince had only his thoughts for company as he made his way to his father. He felt as though he were walking to his doom – a portent supported by his fellow Elves’ taciturn treatment of him.

The scar stretched painfully with each step, his thigh throbbing though it had not before. Meandering through his consciousness was the threat of its interruption, the warning of its emancipation from the tight hold of his self-control. _Above all else, I cannot let Ada know of it_ , the Silvan decided, rubbing the bandage over his thigh. He believed the marred flesh was the only part of his ordeal that was wholly his fault, and though his father may fault him for the ordeal in its entirety, the scar was the nadir of Legolas’ self-doubt and weakness. _It will do no good to tell him when he has so much to chastise me for already._

Legolas knocked twice on the door to his father’s study, a room that was rarely used for contemplation or work – at least not in the Prince’s lifetime. Even from outside the room, the heavy smell of spiced, undiluted wine caused the Wood-Elf’s eyes to water and sparked the return of many sorrowful remembrances. _Perhaps he sleeps,_ the laegel hoped, raising his hand in tentative resolve to knock again. Twice more the Prince struck the wooden door, this time with more force. Legolas winced; not seeing his father immediately upon his return to Mirkwood would incite a dire reprimand, but waking Thranduil from a drunken stupor had its own repercussions. He did not wish to see his father now, not while Aragorn laid half-conscious and the scar on Legolas’ thigh burned with the promise of renascence.

A muffled, annoyed reply finally came from within the study. “Come in.”

Legolas recognized the irritation in his father’s voice, as he had so often been on the receiving end of this infuriation. Slowly opening the door with one hand, the Prince pulled his cloak’s hood from his head. He was still drenched from the torrent of rain earlier, having not the time to change into dry clothing, and feared that this, too, would spark his father’s fury. It did not take much for Legolas to anger Thranduil. Vainly trying to smooth his clothing into some semblance of order, the Prince walked into the room.

Thranduil was well respected by his people. He was a fair, just, and good King, but not at night, not when in his cups. The King sprawled on an elongated, luxurious couch, his long, flaxen hair hanging in lank, tangled cords around his head. Thranduil held a bottle to his mouth, gulping the crimson liquid with the ease of someone practiced at inebriation. From the King’s slovenly appearance and the multitude of discarded wine bottles sitting on every table, beside every chair, and littering the desk, the Prince knew that his father had been on a drunken spree for several days and likely had not even left the room.

 _This does not bode well_.

None was allowed in this room without invitation except the captain of the guards, Ninan, the King’s personal servant, Faidnil, and the Prince; therefore, perhaps because Thranduil did not expect his son’s return so soon, the irritated King must have thought it to be either Ninan or Faidnil to have entered. He emptied his bottle and tossed it carelessly to the lush, carpeted floor ere he bothered to look at who had disturbed him.

Legolas dropped to his knee while bowing his head in obeisance. “Hail King Thranduil, your servant has returned.”

Keeping his gaze on the wine stained carpeting under his knee, Legolas did not dare to look up until after several minutes had passed, a time in which his father said nothing. The thought that his father may have passed out from his intoxicated state, or that Thranduil was waiting for an explanation or some sign from Legolas, finally caused the Wood-Elf to raise his head.

In the brief moment before the wine-induced haze descended once more over the King’s expression, the Prince thought he had seen his father staring at him with relieved concern. Now, as Thranduil struggled to sit, Legolas dropped his gaze back to the floor, not wanting to see the blatant, increasing rage in the face that had once looked at him only with love.

_This does not bode well at all._


	35. Chapter 35

He listened to his father fight against the deep cushions on the couch, unable to stand with the usual grace of Elf-kind because of his extreme inebriety. The King had likely not eaten for several days. He had not slept properly – in this state the King would pass out for a while ere waking and finding the nearest bottle of wine. Fallen from its intricate braids, Thranduil’s hair was unkempt and oily, its usual sheen gone. Given its current state, no servants or councilors had been invited into this study recently, Legolas knew, and perhaps not even Ninan or Faidnil – much less any of the Wood-Elves who knew nothing of their King's poor habits.

 _I am no doubt the cause of this overindulgence,_ the laegel thought, then grimaced at how readily he had already blamed himself for what was occurring. _I have to make him understand. I have to tell him._

“Where is the Ranger?”

Legolas raised his head to meet his father’s trenchant stare but did not rise from his knee. He wanted to be as close to the floor as possible. “He is ill, Ada. The twins have taken him to the healers.”

Thranduil sneered and finally managed to stumble to his feet from the low couch, asking acerbically, “The Noldor are here?”

“Yes, sire. Lords Elladan and Elrohir wished to accompany Estel to Eryn Galen.”

The Elven King staggered to the desk, his robes parting to show the broad expanse of his chest. Except for Legolas’ more sinewy, smaller frame, son and sire were alike. Their differences lay mostly in their temperaments, however, as the Prince had inherited his mother’s loving, natural spirit, instead of his father’s inclination for excess and war.

Thranduil did not look pleased to hear the twins were in Mirkwood, but Legolas had long ago given up trying to please his only parent. Thranduil had not noticed his attempts for many years, and even the Prince’s feats as a warrior went unappreciated by his father, who found fault with his son no matter what the Prince did.

“You mean they came to interfere?” Thranduil’s question was rhetorical. The Prince did not bother to answer, for any answer Legolas gave would be wrong. Picking up a half-empty bottle from the littered desktop, the King drained the wine, and then added casually as he stared with callous eyes at his son, “You should have died. You have embarrassed Mirkwood with your depravities.”

Even though he had known his father would feel this way, Legolas’ body swayed in misery at the confirmation. His hope was flattened that the love and concern he had seen in Thranduil earlier would last. Before he was aware he was speaking, he was already apologizing, continuing his role in the travesty that would ensue, a role he knew too well. “I am sorry, Ada.”

The King hissed, “Sorry?” He laughed as he chose another bottle, one that only had a few drops of wine. Swirling the sanguine fluid around in the base of the bottle, Thranduil shook his head at the Prince and walked over to Legolas to hover over him; the young Elf looked up to his father from his kneeling position, meeting his father’s eyes as he was taught to do when being addressed. “The men that fool Ranger killed were friends of the richest shopkeeper in Lake-town. He has the other Lake-town merchants riled.”

The King smiled down at his son but there was no humor in his words, “You should have died. You left your long sword and shirt with the humans' remains, Legolas, so we knew that it was you. Perhaps if you’d thought to take them with you then we could have avoided this embarrassment.” Tilting the bottle to his lips, the King drank the dregs of the wine.

Gazing up at his irate father, the Prince tried to conceal his emotions, not to let his father see how much import his censure held. _I cannot let him blame me. I am guilty of nothing,_ Legolas told his marred thigh, its presence adding to the laegel’s burden. Already he felt he was losing control of the situation. His father would become angry, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The Prince wondered what new logic the King would use against him. He could never win against his father’s maddening reason.

“The sentries say they found evidence that you and the Ranger may have been attacked. But I do not believe them. If you’d been attacked, you would have died.” Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially to him, “If you had fought as a warrior against the humans to avoid this shame, then you would rather have been dead than to let humans use you. If you had been raped, you would have died from grief already, and then perhaps Mirkwood would lament the untimely loss of her Prince, rather than mourn her Prince’s shameful proclivities.” The hand on the young Silvan’s shoulder tightened its grip. “But much to my regret you are not dead, my son, nor do you appear to be dying of grief or mortal injury. I take this to mean that you desired the humans’ attentions, and I know that I have taught you better than this.”

He would not lie to his father. There was no use in it anyway. “I did not fight them, Ada. The merchants held Estel at knife-point and I could not let them –”

“So it is the human, then.” Sneering down at the Prince, Thranduil condemned, “You should have let the human die. You are an Elven Prince; he is nothing.”

“He is my friend. I could not let them kill him when I could stop it. It was Estel who freed me from them.”

“The Ranger has corrupted you, has he not?” The King hefted the bottle in his free hand, the action reflexive but unintentionally threatening to the Prince.

Legolas recoiled from the twirling bottle. It reminded him of the way Kane had spun the wine bottle around in his fingers, teasing the laegel with its part in his coming subjugation, before abusing him with it. Legolas curled his shoulders forwards, his chest heaving as the same smell that had clung to the merchant’s breath wafted down to him with his father’s words as he faced his drunken King’s wrath.

 _I think we need to see how far you can stretch,_ the scar told him. The Wood-Elf doubled over in pain from the lancing, burning agony that erupted from his marred thigh; its previous absence only heightened its appearance now, and the laegel clutched at his thigh in desperation. _Not now. Please not now._

Thranduil grabbed his son by the chin, wrenching the younger Elf's face upwards and pulling the Prince’s body back upright, his unclipped fingernails digging carelessly into Legolas’ face. “The Ranger is your lover. Why would he not be? If you will fuck two foolish mortals why would you not welcome one more?”

Whatever desire he had held to try to make his father understand, to tell him what had happened in the forest that day with Aragorn, to admit to the first attack in Lake-town, and to plead with his father for his love and understanding, rather than this rejection and revulsion, left the Prince. Mithfindl’s accusations came back to him. _It would appear that you would spread your legs for any, Princeling. What does King Thranduil say about you whoring yourself to humans?_

Legolas inhaled sharply and then licked his lips nervously as he tried to ignore the ache in his jaw from his father’s unyielding grip. His hands grappled at the marred flesh on his thigh. He had to try to tell Thranduil, to explain to the elder Elf what had prompted his consent to the merchants. No explanation came forth, however, and the King took the Prince’s silence as agreement.

“You are no real Prince, Legolas. You are nothing.” Using his merciless hold of the Prince's face, Thranduil pushed his son away violently and strode to his desk. Legolas kept from falling backwards by catching himself with his hands on the floor; he kept his gaze on his father as the King picked through the mostly empty wine bottles.

 _You are nothing, Legolas. Nothing but the humans’ whore._ He fought the urge to tear the bandage away, to rend the demeaning scar. He could not bear to listen to its accusations while listening to his father’s blame; he could not fight them both.

“The guards say the men assaulted you, and this may be true, my son,” the King began, smiling with hedonistic delight as he found a bottle that held most of its wine, “but you did not die. Have you considered what Mirkwood will think of her Prince? An Elf Prince who beds male mortals? Truly,” the King spat, “truly you did not think that I would approve.”

“I am sorry, Ada. I knew you would not approve, but…” Legolas stopped himself when he recognized the gleam of victory in his father’s eyes. He realized he sounded as though he were admitting to submitting to the merchants willingly and so tried to revise his words. “I did not desire the merchants, they took me.”

 _What do you believe your friend will think of you, my sweet slut, when he sees you wantonly submitting to me?_ Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing the scored flesh of his leg with both hands and willing the scar to quiet with all of his being. It continued to utter its base incrimination. _You are ours, Elfling. Nothing more than a toy for us to please ourselves with,_ it told him, causing the Wood-Elf to open his eyes in sudden fear that he would find Cort leaning over him, whispering in his ear. It was his father, not the young merchant, who towered above him, certain in his victory over his son.

“So then you desired the Ranger?”

Legolas would not lie. “I…Yes, I desire him.”

From his kneeling position on the floor, he could see the tips of his father’s ears were as red as the wine he imbibed. “For how long have you rutted this filthy human?”

 _Tell me, Prince Legolas, why you have chosen to bed a mortal? Have you no shame?_ His body lurched forward involuntarily under the constant dual barrage of the scar and his father's vindictive invectives, and Legolas immediately regretted his lapse in self-control. He did not even try to block or evade his father’s fisted hand when it barreled towards him. The blow hit him below his eye, knocking Legolas over, but he caught himself with his hands again and righted himself ere returning his attention to his father. Although his ears rang painfully, Legolas knew he was only being warned this time.

Thranduil seized his son’s neck with his free hand, shaking the young Elf by it a few times as he whispered in an ominous tone, “Look at me when I am speaking to you. For how long?”

“I am sorry, Ada,” he apologized for evading his father’s gaze. The young Silvan knew his answers were damning but he could not avoid responding to his father’s queries, lest his King truly lose his temper, and so admitted, “It is only recently that I have desired Estel.”

Revulsion plain upon his hard face, the Elf-King asked, “When first did you spread your legs for him, my son? How long have you been hiding this disgusting habit?”

 _Will you spread your legs for anyone or does your preference extend only to mortals?_ Legolas swallowed thickly as he tried to meet his father’s gaze, though he wanted nothing more than to rip the scar to shreds. _I have to make him understand. Please._

“After we were attacked in the forest,” he admitted, aware that his father would use this knowledge against him. Hoping to explain to the King why he had survived his attacks, and how he had found comfort from the Ranger, Legolas began, “Ada, I love Estel –”

He had no time to finish, for he found himself toppling the short distance to the carpeted floor. Landing on his hands and knees, the Prince blinked against the onslaught of red liquid pouring into his eyes from his head, stinging his vision away. Raising his hand to the spot where his father’s blow had seemingly ruptured his skull, Legolas’ fingers met small slivers of glass and a deluge of undiluted wine.

 _He has wasted his last bottle,_ the laegel thought absently, relieved that it was mostly wine, and not a torrent of blood, that stained his fingers.

“Do not speak such idiocies to me,” the King told his son, who did not bother to rise from his hands and knees. He would only end up in the floor again, and with his vision spinning, he remained as he was. “You cannot love a mortal, Legolas, and a male one at that. Mirkwood needs heirs, a Queen. Do you expect me ever to sail to Valinor leaving only my pathetic son and the moldering remains of his human lover to see to Eryn Galen’s welfare?”

Thranduil paced around his son, heedless of the glass splinters and puddled wine underfoot, so far was he in his tirade. “You laid with the Ranger after you say you were attacked, is that right? How you must have grieved, my son," the Elven leader whined in mocking sarcasm, “at being raped only to find comfort in another foul human’s bed.”

_Mayhap he only sated the lust your subjugation sparked._

Using his booted foot, the King pushed against the faintly bloodied, wine drenched side of Legolas’ head, striking the Elf with enough force that the Prince nearly fell to his stomach. “I should never have trusted you to behave yourself."

The break in the King’s outburst allowed the Prince the time to beseech his father to pay attention, even as he tried to ignore the scar’s voice, “I am alive because of Estel. I was attacked, Ada, but I did not die because of Estel.” Legolas looked up; his father was listening. He quickly continued, “It is his love for me that brought me back from grief.”

“That is just one more reason for me to hate him, then, isn’t it, Legolas?” His father kicked him again, the heel of his boot connecting with the Prince's side. With a pained gasp, the laegel forced himself not to retreat from the blow. Fighting back only made Thranduil madder, and the Wood-Elf would not battle his father and King. He held his side, breathing shallowly as the King walked away, back to the desk, his hands flitting over the desktop in search of another bottle of wine. “You could have done us all a favor if you had only died, Legolas.” Selecting an empty container, the Elven Lord frowned and threw it to the floor. “But no matter,” he touted, choosing another bottle, “You will make the reparations to Kane, and the Ranger and your predilection for males, human ones at that, we will see to later. One problem at a time.”

“I am sorry Ada, but please, I cannot –”

“Do not interrupt me, fool,” the King roared, stepping towards where Legolas had risen to his knees on the floor, and swinging for emphasis the glass container he held tightly in hand. “You will do whatever I ask of you. As pathetic and disgusting as you may be, you are still the Prince of Mirkwood, and you have a duty to your people, to me.”

The anger suddenly drained from the Elven leader’s face.

“My son.” Bending over to reach Legolas, the King slid his hands under the Prince’s arms, lifting the young Elf from the carpeted floor. The laegel struggled to put his feet under him, to stand before his father ere the elder Elf became angry once more, but Thranduil enveloped Legolas in his arms, and the Prince laid his head on his father’s shoulder in utter defeat. His father always won.

“Why do you do this, my son? Why must you make me angry?” The King leant back, placing one hand under Legolas’ bruised chin to lift his face. Thranduil frowned at the darkening skin on his son’s jaw, saying, “Look what you have made me do, Legolas.”

He knew what response the King waited for, and he said it without compunction. “I am sorry, Ada.”

“I know. I know.” A long-suffering sigh escaped the King’s lips, which blew the fetid, sour smell of wine into Legolas’ upturned face.

_You are wretched, Elfling. You are pathetic._

Deceptively calm and paternal, Thranduil chastised, “You are always sorry, but this time there can be no mistakes. When the merchant Kane arrives to make his demands, you will meet them, understood?”

“Yes, my King.”

Abruptly letting loose the Prince, Thranduil stepped back, straightened his robes, and flattened his mussed hair in an effort to regain some composure. Legolas almost fell from the loss of support, for his thigh pulsated agonizing self-loathing through him, and his father’s battering made the Prince feel too weary to stand. “Then get some rest, I am sure the journey has exhausted you. See that our guests are welcomed, also.”

The King was looking around the room for more wine to sate his unquenchable thirst. Coolly dismissed by his father’s turned back, the Prince bowed as he barely whispered, “Yes, Ada. Good night.”

Legolas walked from the room with a hobble, his marred flesh spreading a nauseating numbness through his leg as it spoke to him. _You are contemptible. You are soiled. You should have faded._ Drawing the hood of his cloak back over his head, the Wood-Elf limped down the hallway, conscious of the open, pitying stares of the guards as he tried to make his way down the passage without falling. _I will not leave Estel,_ he told the scar. _I will not fade._

He would keep his promises.

Legolas knew what the scar was now. Elrond was right. The scar was him, his doubts and inhibitions, his fear and self-hatred. But the scar was more than that – it was the part of him that agreed with his father, one that hated him as much as his father did, and desired the same ablutionary pain for his imperfections. And much like his father, he could not win against it. 


	36. Chapter 36

He was stopped twice by healers and each time he had to reject their offers to aid him politely but firmly. Legolas had the irritating suspicion that the healers allowed him to decline their skill only because they truly did not want to help him, for neither had protested overly much when the Prince limped away from them, and neither normally would have been so easily denied.

 _Three doors to the left,_ he reminded himself, following the juncture in the hallway that led to where the first healer had told him the Ranger could be found. Usually, even at this time of night, this part of his father’s halls, where the sick and wounded were kept, was filled with healers walking down the hallways, checking on the many inhabitants. Everyone in Mirkwood had spent time in the massive house, because no matter what vocation one had, at times all were expected to be either healers or warriors. Tonight, however, the hallways were relatively deserted.

Moving with caution, the laegel walked. The numbness of his thigh had spread throughout his body; he could no longer feel the blows from his father’s wrath. _I have not seen Ada this angry in many years,_ the Wood-Elf decided as he stopped at the Ranger’s door, before forcing his thoughts away from the King.

 _I hope that Estel is well._ He entered the room quietly, noticing immediately that Aragorn lay asleep in the gigantic bed, Elladan curled up beside him, his hand resting on the Ranger’s chest. Elrohir, it seemed, had intended to stay awake to watch over his brothers, but the Noldo had also fallen asleep with his head resting on the mattress, while sitting in a cushioned chair he had moved beside the bed. Neither twin was changed from their wet clothing but the human had been relieved of his traveling attire and was dressed in a dry nightshirt. A roaring fire was lit, bathing the entire room in its glow.

Because he did not wish to wake the Ranger or twins, Legolas struggled to remain silent as he walked to the bed. _He sleeps as soundly as before, but he does not appear as miserable,_ the laegel decided of his lover’s relaxed breathing and more salubrious complexion. He stared down at the human for several minutes, deciding whether he should curl up at the end of the Ranger’s bed, the only spot open currently, or if he should return to his own rooms. As much as he wanted to be there the moment the Ranger awoke, he did not want to disturb the brothers, and so he gazed only for a minute more ere moving towards the door.

The flames licking the dry locust logs captured his attention. The fire crackled in invitation, stopping him from leaving. _I will stay to watch the fire awhile,_ the weary Prince promised himself, fully aware that he would fall asleep the moment he sat in the chair in front of the hearth.

Stumbling to the fireplace, Legolas considered removing his wine drenched cloak, but thought better of it when he sat in the comfortable chair. He couldn’t feel the warmth from the fire. _Perhaps the wood is wet._ With a small groan of grievance at his chilled flesh, the laegel pulled his cloak more tightly around him and scooted off the chair to be closer to the fire. _It does not seem to be heating the air at all,_ he complained, picking up the poker as he lay on his side on the hearth. Tucking the edges of his cloak around him to keep them out of the flames, the Elf stabbed leisurely at the burning wooden logs, resting his head on his other arm. As he knew he would, the Wood-Elf soon fell into reverie, his unfocused eyes staring into the now roaring fireplace.

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Waking to an odd sensation upon his face, the Ranger pried one eye open, and then the other, in an attempt to see what had woke him. His vision was blurred. He was instantly aware that he lay in a proper bed, mostly unclothed, and that someone’s hair was blowing over his face. Slipping his hand from under the blankets, the human rubbed his eyes and turned his head to see who lay beside him.

 _Legolas,_ the Ranger thought, his mind working slowly as he tried to wake from his long sleep. It was not his fair-haired lover laying in the bed but a dark-haired Noldo, his hair splayed out across the bed and over Estel.

 _Elladan._ The Ranger grabbed at the offending tress that had been tickling his cheek with each of Elladan’s exhalations, but it required too much dexterity for the exhausted Ranger to accomplish. Instead, he grabbed the braid on the side of the Elf’s head and gave the plait a playful but forceful tug.

Elladan woke immediately, his dark eyes focusing on Aragorn. “Brother,” he welcomed, smiling at the human and rising to sit beside the Ranger on the bed. “I was beginning to think you couldn’t have slept longer had we dropped you head first into the Enchanted River!”

A snort erupted from his other side, and the Ranger turned to find Elrohir sitting up straight, one side of his face horribly flushed from where he had obviously lain on it. “But couldn’t you have slept just a few more hours, Estel? It is too early to wake.”

“It is well past time to wake, slug,” the elder twin criticized, throwing Elrohir an evil stare – a stare that only earned him a grin from his twin. Placing his hand on the Ranger’s forehead, Elladan asked, “How do you feel, Estel?”

“Well.” The Ranger coughed lightly, his voice hoarse and strained from lack of use. He wanted to ask his brothers how long he had been sleeping, how long they had been in Mirkwood, and most importantly, where Legolas was, but he was not yet entirely awake, and neither his thoughts nor voice seemed in working order. He could recall brief moments from their journey off the mountain and through the forest, but not enough to piece together the answers for himself.

Elladan ordered his twin, "Get him some water, Elrohir, and be of some use.” The Noldo hopped up from his chair with a roll of his eyes in Estel’s direction. The elder continued, helping Aragorn to sit up against the headboard of the massive bed. “Now, brother, you have scared us half to Valinor with your irritating propensity for sickness,” he ranted, placing another pillow behind the Ranger’s back, “and I am sure that… Elrohir?” The Noldo looked to his twin, who held a glass jug of water in one hand, and a short clay tumbler in the other. Elrohir seemed fixated; both Elladan and Aragorn followed his gaze to the dead fireplace.

“Legolas?” His gaze never leaving the red soaked, cloaked figured, Elrohir placed the jug and tumbler hurriedly back on the table and ran to the hearth.

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The Wood-Elf awoke with a start, his aching head and travel-weary body protesting vigorously as he opened his eyes. Elrohir knelt beside where Legolas lay on the hearth, leaning over him and placing his face inches away from the Prince’s face. “Legolas? Are you alright?” His nose wrinkling in disgust, the Noldo added, “And why do you smell like a winery?”

“Elrohir!” Elladan’s scolding voice grew closer as he said, “Do not pester him. Is he well?” The twin had come to kneel beside his brother, leaning over the laegel’s side. Legolas smiled vaguely in the shadows of his cloak’s hood as Elladan’s nose curled up the same as his brother’s nose. “Valar, Greenleaf, did you fall in a vat of brew?”

Legolas tried to rise, though the twins’ close proximity barred him; Elladan and Elrohir shifted to allow the Wood-Elf to sit upright.Staring at him as though he had imbibed as much wine as was saturating his clothes, the twins pulled the laegel’s arms, helping him to stand. The Wood-Elf welcomed the help, for his thigh ached fiercely and his vision swam. “Thank you, my friends,” he told them, adjusting his wine-sticky clothing, which clung uncomfortably to him in all the wrong places. He shook his head to clear his vision.

The distressed human staring at him from the bed across the room became his sole impetus to move, and Legolas ignored the twins’ huffs of frustration as he pulled free from them. _Estel._ The Wood-Elf’s smile widened at the sight of his lover, and he walked as quickly as his stiff, sore leg and blurred eyesight would allow, until he was seated on the bed beside Aragorn. The Prince rejoiced in relief, reaching his arms out to the human, who embraced the laegel without hesitation. He spent a few moments in the ecstasy of the Ranger’s nearness. _He will be well._

Leaning back so that he could see the Ranger’s silver eyes, Legolas told the human, his smile and countenance alight with the pleasure of seeing his lover conscious, “It is good to see you awake.” He caught Estel’s face between his hands and brushed his lips against the Ranger’s brow.

The Adan attempted to speak but in his state could only manage a fit of coughing. Legolas wrapped his arms around the human’s middle as Aragorn doubled over with the agony of his bout of wheezing. Pressing a glass of water in the Prince’s hand, Elladan nodded towards Aragorn, and the laegel waited patiently for the worst of the human’s coughs to cease before he helped Estel drink.

“Estel has only just decided to grace us with his presence,” Elladan explained to the Prince in a teasing voice, seating himself in the chair Elrohir had placed beside the bed the night before.

Walking purposefully to the Prince, Elrohir stood in front of Legolas, already unclasping the clip at the Wood-Elf’s neck as he suggested, “Let me take your cloak, ere the fumes send Estel back to sleep.”

Legolas noted the suspicious miens of the Noldor but could not remove his gaze from the Ranger, so jubilant was he at seeing Aragorn awake. The Ranger’s slumber had scared the Prince more than he had been willing to admit, and so he merely continued beaming in relief at Estel and allowed Elrohir to unclasp his wine drenched cloak. It was not until the Noldo gasped that the Prince remembered the reason why he had kept the hood over his head and face in the first place.

Elrohir sighed, tossing the cloak to form a sodden heap on the floor. “Greenleaf.”

“It is nothing,” he affirmed, dodging his head from the Elven healer’s questing hands; however, Elrohir distressed the Prince unknowingly by seizing Legolas’ chin to keep his head still, looking down at him with a frown like Thranduil’s usual scowl. With a painful jerk of his head, the Wood-Elf retreated from the twin’s hold as he stood from the bed only to stumble backwards over his cloak. “I am fine,” he lied automatically, righting himself and trying to appease the alarmed stares of the Ranger and twins by reseating himself at the foot of the bed.

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“You are not fine,” Aragorn growled, swinging his legs from under the heavy blanket atop him. He had no more than stuck his feet from the edge of the bedding ere Elrohir was pushing him back onto the bed.

“You are not getting up,” the twin ordered sharply. Rarely had the Noldorin Lord spoken to his human brother so firmly. The Ranger remained as he was, not trying to rise but not returning to his lying in the bed, and glared at Elrohir.

Elladan rose from his chair, leaving Elrohir to restrain Aragorn. “Thranduil did this, did he not?”

“He broke his last bottle of wine.” The laegel chuckled gruffly and jested with a self-deprecating snort, “He took it rather well, I think. Better than I expected. I am still alive, am I not?” Neither the twins nor Ranger were amused, however, and only returned the Prince’s cheerful self-hatred with horrified frowns. Legolas’ smile dulled, and he hung his head, concentrating on rubbing his hands together as though to warm them.

“Valar, Greenleaf,” Elladan swore as he walked to the Wood-Elf, tilting the Prince's head up and to the side gently to inspect the damage; from his seat on the bed the Ranger could see small splinters of glass reflecting in the laegel’s hair and the bruises on the Wood-Elf’s cheek and chin.

 _I should have been with him,_ the human criticized, his sordid mortality the cause of this, also, for had he not been sick, he could have met Thranduil with Legolas. _I will not let this happen again._

Elladan grimaced at the Wood-Elf’s head, saying quietly, “It does not appear that deep. It will not need to be sewn.”

“Then I am fine and only have need of a bath.”

“Greenleaf,” Elladan warned, placing his hands on the Wood-Elf’s shoulder to keep him from rising, from avoiding the Noldo’s attentions. “Let me pick the glass free from your hair.” Aragorn watched, feeling useless as his Elven brother began to pick through the Prince’s glossy hair, pulling free small shards of glass. Although his coughing had stopped, its imminent return plagued the Ranger, for he had many questions for the Wood-Elf.

Elrohir solved the human’s dilemma when he asked, “What did your father say?” The Noldo scooted the Ranger farther onto the bed, pushing Estel back into sitting against the headboard as he sat down himself beside the human to face the pale laegel.

With a cheerful resignation that made the Ranger’s hatred for Thranduil multiply, the Prince smiled sadly and explained without spite, “Ada said that I should have died, that I have embarrassed him and Eryn Galen.” Aragorn could tell from the obeisant recitation of the King’s malicious remonstration that Legolas had accepted his father’s edict. Flinching as Elladan extricated a sliver of the broken wine bottle from his scalp, the Wood-Elf added offhandedly, “He said that if I had fought as a true warrior, I would have died before allowing the merchants to touch me, and if I had truly been raped, I would have died from grief.”

“But you did not, Legolas,” the Noldorin healer inserted, scouring the laegel’s thick mane a final time for more glass shards. “You chose to remain because of Estel.”

“I told him this, also.” Legolas lifted his fingertips to the sticky mess on his scalp, saying with a laugh, “Which is when he decided against finishing his last bottle of wine.” The Prince’s amusement at his own expense was sickening to the Ranger. Turning his beguiling smile to the human, the Wood-Elf eluded, “But this will soon be over. I have given Ada my word.”

The Ranger already knew the answer to his question, but he coughed, earning a resounding whack on the back from Elrohir before he managed to ask the smiling laegel anyway, “You have given him your word to do what?”

Elladan finished picking through the Wood-Elf’s wine reddened hair and moved to sit in the chair. The three brothers faced their Woodland friend as he reaffirmed his pledge to Thranduil, “I will see Ada’s command completed. I have promised Ada I would fulfill Kane’s demands.” None of the brothers spoke, and Legolas, ostensibly realizing with a dread filled frown that the quiet was only the calm before the twins’ storm of disapproval, continued talking. “It is easier this way. Kane has incited turmoil in Lake-town. If his demands are met, then Ada will no longer be angry and all will be well again.”

 _You make it sound so simple,_ Aragorn mused in infuriation, willing his brothers to truss the Wood-Elf up and pack him on the nearest horse heading for Imladris.

Elrohir must have sensed his human brother’s silent plea, for he argued, “What of you, Greenleaf? You will not be well.”

“Your father is foolish,” Elladan interrupted his twin, twisting in his chair anxiously as he spoke. “He would rather have a wine trade with Lake-town than a son.”

The laegel was quickly becoming angered, and though his face was a calm façade and his body still, he was taut with tension at the twins for inveighing his father and King’s character. His voice stiff and disarmingly peaceful, the Wood-Elf replied, “King Thranduil decides what is best for his people and the forest. He is a good King, and I am not only his son, Elladan, but his servant.”

“This is not about your duty to Mirkwood. None would question your loyalty,” Elrohir ranted, rising from his seat on the bed to pace the short distance to the fireplace and back, “but allegiance would not require this of you, Greenleaf. Thranduil seeks to punish you –”

“And you would accept it as though you deserve it! Your father is mad, Legolas,” Elladan reiterated.

Aragorn watched his lover stand from the bed, his abrupt movement belying his composed demeanor. The laegel struggled with his words, his brow furrowing into a deep frown ere it cleared, and the Wood-Elf stated with blithe acquiescence, “Perhaps I do deserve it. Ada is right. I could have found some way to keep Estel safe without shaming Eryn Galen. If I had been a true warrior I would have died trying.” Reeling with the impact of his admission, the Prince swallowed thickly while gazing at Elrohir, who had stopped his pacing and stood stunned and slightly slack jawed at Legolas’ egregious misplacement of blame.

 _He does not truly believe this,_ the breathless Ranger thought, using the twins’ and Wood-Elf’s lack of attention to attempt getting out of the bed.

“But I did not try. I gave in, not once, but twice to their lust.” Turning his lucid, cool blue gaze to Elladan, the Prince spewed forth more of his irrational argument, saying, “Perhaps Ada is right and I desired their cruel treatment.” Finally, the laegel looked meaningfully to Aragorn, and with his lips curled into a smile that still spoke of his unending happiness to see the Ranger awake, explained, “At least the second time I had an excuse for not dying of grief. I had no reason for surviving after the first time. I should have died.”

Barring a livid Aragorn from standing with one arm, Elladan rose from his chair to demand, “Did Thranduil tell you these things?”

“No.” Legolas looked away from the Ranger, his smile fading into an uncomfortable grimace as he answered the Noldo’s question. “I did not tell Ada of Lake-town. He needs no more reason to hate me.”

“Sweet Eru.” The midday sunlight from the air shafts above glinted in Elrohir’s mussed, ebony braids as he crossed the room to Legolas. “So you blame yourself so freely? Do you not think it would alter his thinking if he were to know?”

“Of course it would alter his thinking,” the laegel responded with a wry smirk. “Instead of wishing I had died in the forest with Sven and Cort he would that I had died in Kane’s store.” Legolas shuddered unconsciously, fomenting the Ranger’s endeavor to get out of bed, either to comfort the Wood-Elf or kill Thranduil.

Elladan exclaimed, his usually soft voice rising in anger, “You speak as though your living is a mistake, Greenleaf!”

“Why would you even consider that your dying would be better?” Elrohir’s shouted question began before Elladan had finished his exclamation, and both stepped forward simultaneously towards the fraught Prince.

_They will get nowhere yelling at him in this way._

“Brothers.” The Ranger’s gravelly, unused voice summarily interrupted the twins’ tirade, and all three Elves looked to him. Aragorn breathed in slowly, hoping to stifle the fit of coughing destined to evince his inability in speaking; he wanted Elladan and Elrohir to overlook his sickness long enough to listen to him, rather than mother him back into bed. “Leave.” Elrohir glowered at Aragorn, who raised his hands in supplication, adding after another deep breath, “I wish to speak to Legolas alone.”

“I am not finished talking to him, Estel. Besides,” the younger twin complained, pointing to the medicine-laden table at the head of the bed, “you are sick, you need tending. As do you, Legolas,” he railed, his simmering anger effervescing as his tirade at the Prince began again. “Did your father beat this submission into you?”

The Wood-Elf reacted as though he had been struck by a strong gust of wind; his lean figure bowed forward slightly before he sat heavily back onto the bed. Aragorn, however, reacted to Elrohir’s words with fury, and hissed at the twin, “Be gone, brother. Your anger helps nothing.”

Without a word, Elladan twisted his arm through his twin’s limb and pulled the resisting Elrohir unceremoniously to the door.

 _I will certainly hear about this later,_ the sarcastic Ranger told himself as he watched the younger twin fume. _But Elrohir has gone too far._ With his hands in his lap and his head bowed, the laegel appeared defeated to the Ranger, and he wanted never to see his lover in such a state.

After Elladan closed the door and the echoing arguing of the twins had faded from the hallway, the Ranger pulled the blankets from over him, intending to stand. “Legolas?

“Sit,” the Prince soothed, moving to the edge of the bed beside the Ranger. “Do you need something?”

Huffing in frustration at being thwarted from rising yet again, the Adan scowled when the Wood-Elf merely grinned at the human, his uncalled for levity grating the Ranger’s nerves. “Elrohir did not mean his words, Legolas. He spoke in anger.”

Legolas reached out to run his fingers along the human’s jaw, his fingertips grazing the long, thick stubble that had grown there since last the Ranger had trimmed it. “Do not apologize for Elrohir. He speaks from love – and from fear. Since Lady Celebrian sailed to Valinor, the twins live in terror of losing another dear to them.” Withdrawing his hand, the Prince smoothed the covers back over the human’s bare legs. “But Elrohir is right. I tried to tell Ada, Estel. I tried to make him listen but he would not. Ada was drunk, and angry, and I did what I always have – I let his words and fists silence me.”

He could find nothing to say to the laegel’s vindication of Elrohir’s accusation, for he knew it to be true, also. “I told Ada that I love you,” the Prince continued, his hand tracing the pattern on the Ranger’s nightshirt. The Elf was fidgeting; it made Estel nervous, and he found himself wondering if Legolas had worse news to tell him. Smiling ruefully, the laegel said, “He was not pleased, as you are both male and a human, but it is a problem he intends to solve later, after Kane is pacified.”

Aragorn could not imagine what means that Thranduil would employ to solve his son’s supposed problem, but the Ranger realized that it would involve senseless violence directed at Legolas, or perhaps even at himself. “I am sorry that I was not with you.”

Shaking his head, the Wood-Elf assured the Ranger, “I am glad you were not.”

Although both had much to say, they sat without speaking, with Legolas tracing the stitching of the human’s shirt with his fingers and the Ranger tracing the bruises on the Wood-Elf’s face with his gaze. _This will not happen again._


	37. Chapter 37

They sat in silence until Legolas could no longer take the scrutiny of his lover’s stare; he leant forward, slipping his arms around the Ranger’s waist and pressing his face into Estel’s abdomen. Returning the embrace, the ill human laid his arms across the Wood-Elf’s shoulders, running his hands in the tangled, sticky mess of the laegel’s hair in long, absent, peaceful strokes. Neither spoke, for neither wanted to break the fleeting moment of serenity they found in each other’s company.

 _I am sure that Estel is hungry, or that he needs some medicine that the twins would have given him,_ the Prince thought with guilt, inhaling the aroma of his lover and swinging his legs from the floor onto the bed so that he could lie against the Ranger. Aragorn scooted over, giving the Elf room next to him. Reveling in the joy it brought him to see the human awake and well, Legolas still could not keep his thoughts away from the coming controversy. Pushing his face deeper into the human’s muscled stomach, the laegel murmured, “Ada will expect me to show for the noon meal.”

_If he is sober enough to make it to the table._

His corded, sinewy lover tensed at his words, Estel’s hand paused in the thick of a particularly tangled knot of hair; however, the Ranger began his combing anew and hugged the Prince tighter to him with his other arm, saying in a voice husky with sickness, “Then we should have a bath. It would not be appropriate for me to greet your father as such.”

“No,” the Prince rejoined immediately, not even needing to contemplate the Ranger seeing his father. “You are sick, Estel, and you should remain here until you are well.”

Legolas would not have thought it possible, but the human tensed even further; the strong belly beneath the laegel’s cheek became as unyielding as the stone walls around them. “I will not let him hit you again, Legolas.”

“And I will not let you suffer his anger.”Unwilling to rise from his soothing, comforting recline against the Ranger, the Elf argued without truly feeling the anger he tried to infuse within his retort, “You cannot protect me. He is my father, my King, he –”

“He beats you,” the Ranger interrupted with a whisper. Tugging on the Wood-Elf’s arms, the human compelled the laegel into sitting again. Aragorn placed a palm on either side of the Wood-Elf’s face, running his thumbs along the Prince’s high cheekbones. “And I will not let it happen again,” the Ranger growled possessively, his finger lightly tracing the bruise beneath the laegel’s eye.

Powerless but to smile at the healer’s bearish mood, the Prince tried to argue against Aragorn’s worries nonetheless, and was unaware of how desperate the disparity between his bleak words and his cheery attitude made him appear. “It has happened before, Estel. It will happen again.” He cupped the hands the Ranger held to his face, prying them away gently as he rose nimbly from the bed. “It would only be worse if you were there, my love. Wait until after Kane has left.” Legolas picked up his sodden cloak from the floor and draped it over his forearm.

Sliding across the bed sheets, the Ranger flipped the blanket back when he came to the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the stone floor. “And then what? Kane’s absence will not ameliorate your father’s anger for long, Legolas. It is as you said, he intends to solve your other problems later,” the human rejoined sarcastically, rising with unsteady motions to stand beside the bed. “I will not hide while you contend with your father alone, especially not when I am the reason for his anger.”

The Ranger was not through with his tirade, but Legolas held his hand up, stopping Aragorn’s further reckoning; the Wood-Elf was weary of conflict, and so he merely acquiesced. “Fine, Estel. You may come, but only if you will promise that you will not react to my father as you did to Mithfindl. I’m afraid I would not be the one doling out your atonement this time.” Despite his victory in their argument, the healer was not pleased and his frown increased when the resigned laegel added, “You are not the cause of his anger.” Looking about the room, Legolas spied the twins’ and healer’s belongings in the corner; he went to them, selecting the strap of the human’s saddlebags to obtain the clothing the Ranger stored within the satchel. “It is me with whom he is angry. He hates me.”

Taking the Ranger’s silence as affirmation of his statement, the Prince decided, _It is clear that he has the same opinion._

After pulling out a pair of trousers, the Wood-Elf knelt before the standing human, who wavered almost indiscernibly on his feet from illness and exhaustion. He helped the human dress; they would need to go to his quarters in order to bathe privately, for the laegel would not undergo the reserved stares or worried meekness of his fellow Wood-Elves in the bathing rooms nearby. Estel steadied himself by placing his hands on the Prince’s shoulders when the laegel lifted each of the man’s feet in his effort to clothe the human.

Something about the way the man stared down at him, frowning with adoration and worries, incited the Prince’s longing for the Ranger, and his platonic touch of the human’s skin as he smoothed the fabric up Estel’s legs became needy. Unaware, he gripped the muscled limbs beneath his hands. The constant threat of the scar’s return and the lack of his lover’s conscious presence for the last several days had taken its toll on the laegel’s composure. He had expended all his energy in maintaining a composed demeanor for the twins and his father, and his ability to battle the ever-present menace of the scar’s poisonous words was diminished. He wanted the Ranger; from the way the man’s haggard visage softened as Legolas tugged the cloth over Aragorn’s hips, the healer wanted him as well.

“Thank you,” the human whispered.

Nevertheless, the Ranger was sick and he would not ask for this comfort from the ill human. His motions became abrupt. Tightening the laces, he berated himself, _Valar, Legolas. He is ill and you are selfish._ The Prince stood to find Estel’s boots.

With the Ranger clothed in leggings and a nightshirt, the Prince aided the quiet, solemn human into his boots before wrapping the Ranger’s cloak about him. “The twins will wonder where we have gone.”

“I am sure they are outside. Elladan will have calmed Elrohir and Elrohir will want to apologize for his outburst.” Aragorn looked over the medicines on the table for a moment before choosing a few and placing them in his pocket. At the laegel’s questioning look, the Ranger explained with a snicker, “If they think I plan to take the vile concoction they force me to drink every time I cough, then perhaps they will leave me be for a while.”

“Somehow I doubt it.” After replacing his soaked cloak around him, pulling the hood up to hide his bruised face and wine matted hair, the Elf held his arm out, offering it to the unsteady human; though the human frowned at the proffered help, he took it nonetheless, and Legolas walked his lover out of the room.

As Aragorn had predicted, the twins were sitting on one of the many benches lining the corridors of the hall where the healers kept their patients. Elladan had his arm around Elrohir’s shoulder, while the younger twin held his head in his hands, his elbows rested on his knees, and his body was bent forward such that the laegel could not see the Noldo’s expression.

Elladan nudged his younger brother, prompting Elrohir to raise his head. He did not hesitate. “I am sorry, Greenleaf. I let my anger best my better judgment, brother,” the twin told him, calling the Wood-Elf 'brother' on purpose, for the twins and laegel were as much brothers as Estel and the Noldor.

Elrohir’s eruption had hurt Legolas, for although the twins knew better than anyone what effect – both physically and mentally – that Thranduil had on his son, the Noldo’s words had been thoughtless and cruel by using this information against the Prince. The reddened, bleary-eyed Noldo’s face told the Wood-Elf that he had been right; the twins spoke from fear and love, and their anger was a coping mechanism against that over which they had no control, much as Legolas’ calm acceptance of his father’s wrath was a way to tolerate the unchecked self-doubts within him left by Thranduil’s rescinding of his paternal love. The Noldo rose, followed immediately by his elder twin in enveloping between them the laegel, and thus the Ranger, too, as he had not let go of the Silvan’s arm.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Legolas spoke into the dark head that rested on his shoulder, feeling the harassing strife of the scar’s latent discord easing to be so surrounded by the affectionate twins whom he considered brothers, as well. “It is alright, Elrohir,” the Prince said softly to the sniffling Noldo, his voice not carrying beyond the foursome in the deserted hallway.

“It is not alright. I should not have said such a cruel thing to you.” Elrohir pulled away to wipe at his teary eyes with the back of his sleeve. The younger twin might have regretted his methods but he did not regret his intentions, and so inquired of Legolas, “Greenleaf. You will truly follow your father’s edict?”

The Wood-Elf nodded, saying, “I will.” Although he had his own doubts about what the mercenary wanted, the Prince looked down the hallway for any eavesdropping passersby before he tried to alleviate the Noldor and Ranger’s concerns. “Kane is a merchant. He will want money and perhaps an apology. This is not too great a price to pay if Ada will no longer be angry.”

It was clear that the Ranger and twins did not agree; Legolas could sense their desire to argue with him. “Apologizing to one’s rapist is hardly a small price to pay.”

Elrohir’s disbelieving, droll statement portended the return of his anger, and to stave off the ensuing argument and Legolas’ potentially affronted response, Elladan interrupted, “Where are the two of you going?”

“To bathe,” the Ranger answered, reaching into his pocket. The Wood-Elf smiled at the twins’ knowing, amused smirks when the human showed them the herbs he had brought with him. “I intend to take my medicine, bathe, and be ready for the noon meal.”

“You should be back in bed,” Elladan advised, “but I suppose that we should not leave the King awaiting our thanks for his hospitality.” Sharing an emotionless but insightful glance with his twin, Elladan spoke for them both, “It would suit us to bathe, also, so that we can attend the noon meal with you.”

 _Wonderful,_ the laegel ruminated, but then changed his mind, thinking, _at least the twins are more diplomatic than Estel. Perhaps they can keep him in line._

“The morning grows late,” he prodded, taking firm hold of Aragorn’s arm when two healers rounded the distant corner and began to walk towards the Prince and his friends. The healers walked more slowly, moving with uncertainty upon seeing the gathered Noldor, Ranger, and their Prince, but did not stop their approach.

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Following the Wood-Elf’s gaze down the long hallway, the Ranger noted that the healers ahead of them were coming their way and he felt his lover’s need to avoid them, to leave quickly. Fortunately, the twins also understood their Woodland friend’s desire to leave and concurred in tandem. “Until later, then.”

Heading back into the empty room in which Aragorn had been sequestered, the Noldor gathered their baggage to take back to the room they typically shared while in Thranduil's halls, a room kept for them much as Legolas' room in Imladris was kept solely for him. Legolas wasted no time in evading the nearing healers; he guided the Ranger out of the hallway and into a narrow, winding passage to their right. They moved slowly in the darker, less welcoming path to the Prince’s quarters, but Estel already felt winded and his chest contracted painfully each time he could not stifle the incessant coughing that plagued him. The slight incline of the hallway tired the Ranger, but the massive staircase they had avoided by taking this route would have been impossible for the human to climb in his condition.

Estel paused their progress; coughing so violently that his vision turned into red, dancing spots of pain-induced haze, Aragorn felt the laegel move to stand behind him. Sliding his arms under the Ranger’s arms and around the man’s chest, the Prince kept the human upright while he coughed and queried once Aragorn had regained his breath, “Let us go back.”

“No,” the Ranger managed, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear them. Taking in a deep breath and forcing his body to hold it, Estel continued, “I wish to bathe.”

The Silvan tried again, “We can go back. We can call for a bathtub to be brought to us.”

Estel shook his head and the laegel resumed his position in keeping the human ambling up the meandering passage. _I am not letting you out of my sight,_ he pledged to the Prince and continued to shamble upwards towards Legolas' quarters.

Few of the Wood-Elves they passed offered any aid and gave only meager greetings to the Prince and Ranger, and Aragorn found himself thinking, _I hope it is me that they seek to avoid and not Legolas._ He could not imagine that the Elves of the Greenwood would be so callous towards their Prince, but then, he had not imagined that the King would force his son into making reparations to his rapist. Sighing in the effort to maintain his balance, the Ranger pondered his lover’s promise to his father and what it would eventually mean. _Even should Kane be pacified with money and an apology, I will keep my promise. Kane will not enjoy his reparations for long._ Although not usually one to enjoy the pain of others, the Adan knew just how he would kill the human – by relieving the merchant of that which had hurt the Ranger's Wood-Elf the most.

When the passage finally ended, the Ranger and Elf came across an intersecting corridor that the human recognized, for at one end of the open, aerial and plant filled hall was Legolas’ personal rooms, and at the other lay the top of the stairwell they had circumvented. He had been in Mirkwood many times and had always been amazed at what skill it had taken the Dwarven carpenters who had helped construct the stone palace to make the underground rooms appear lofty and airy. They were now in the topmost level of the twisting architecture of the stronghold and the farthest away from Thranduil’s own rooms deep under the mountainside. A few doors interspersed the carved stone walls; one of them led to a library, another to a sitting room, one to a short hallway that connected the Prince’s rooms to Kalin’s nearby quarters, while the last led into Legolas’ bedroom. This door the Prince opened, and the Ranger and Wood-Elf walked into the spacious, albeit sparsely furnished chamber.

The only luxury the Wood-Elf required was his own bathing room, a luxury he had also been granted in Imladris. Leaving the winded Ranger and his bags to sit on the bed, the Prince started a fire in the large, open fireplace from the store of wood placed nearby. The chimney was embedded between the walls of the bedroom and bathing room, and there was no partition between the two within the massive, tall hearth. Aragorn could see through the licking flames and into the bathing room where Legolas was now filling a small cauldron with water. Hanging it over the fire, the laegel filled the bathtub with cold water from the faucet. A reservoir of collected rainwater was hidden beneath ivy on the mountainside above them for this purpose. Aragorn merely watched; his weakness and sickness kept him from being of any use or attempting conversation.

With their bath almost prepared, Legolas came back into the bedroom with his cloak in hand. He tossed it into a corner and removed his outer tunic, adding it to his pile of stained clothing, as he told Estel, “The water will be hot soon.”

Estel did not reply; the Wood-Elf came to sit on his heels on the floor in front of where Aragorn sat on the bed. Removing the Ranger’s boots, the laegel reached for the man’s cloak and then nightshirt, unclothing the man as easily as he had clothed him just a short time ago. When the Ranger sat only in his trousers, the laegel stopped and draped a blanket over the human’s shoulders so he would not be cold while they waited for the cauldron’s water to warm.

Legolas, however, stripped completely, leaving his wine stained clothing with the rest in the corner as he padded barefoot back into the bathing room. The bite marks and bruises from Mithfindl’s attack were healed; however, the Wood-Elf was not unmarred. Along the Elf’s ribs was a dark, semicircular bruise. The scar had closed at its furthest ends, the blemish no more than a light, pink line over the Elf’s thigh – only its middle was still inflamed and not yet healed.

 _He has rent the scar again,_ the Ranger concluded, averting his eyes from the beautiful but disturbing sight of his battered lover. _He will never heal –_ it _will never heal – in the shadow of Thranduil’s anger._

Sounds of splashing water met his ears. Through the fireplace’s opening, he observed in his silent, frustrated apprehension the long, pale legs of his lover; the slender but strong limbs carried the Wood-Elf back to the bedroom as he called, “The bath is ready.”

Legolas stood nude in the doorway between the two rooms shamelessly, his fair body glowing opaline in the bright light from the windows looking out over the great forest. Shedding the blanket, the sick Ranger rose from the bed, longing to taste his lover and intent on giving the Wood-Elf the comfort he knew that Legolas desired, and that which he needed, also. _I will find some way to show him this is not his fault._

Legolas preceded the Ranger into the bathing room; Aragorn enjoyed the view of his lover’s lithe, elegantly moving limbs as the Prince walked in front of him. The laegel maintained his royal comportment despite his barefoot, nude body. Turning, the Elf waited patiently for the Ranger to reach him beside the tub ere he crouched on his knees on the floor, his hands reaching with a lover’s familiarity to the ties at the human’s leggings.

 _I will find some way to show him that his father is wrong,_ the Ranger reiterated to himself as Legolas tugged the man’s trousers down his hips. Much as he had done when putting the human’s trousers on a short time ago, the laegel lifted each of the Ranger’s feet, pulling the cloth free of Aragorn’s long legs, while the Ranger again kept his balance with his hands on the Elf’s shoulders. _I will find some way to keep him safe._

The tub was inset in the room’s tile floor and was crafted so that its base tilted slightly downwards. A simple cork plug kept the warmed water from escaping the outlet in its bottom. If removed, the water would drain from the tub and into the carved egresses that led to streams under the mountainside, which eventually made their way to the Forest River.

Legolas hopped easily into this deep but narrow pool of water. Holding his arms out to the Ranger, the Prince aided the unsteady human into the tub before squatting in the water to help Estel sit on the tub’s floor. With Aragorn safely seated, the Elf knelt behind the Ranger and picked up a dry cloth lying on the floor beside the edge of the tub. Legolas dipped the soft fabric into the scented water and began to bathe the sick Ranger.

Neither man nor Elf spoke, save for the quiet sighs of appreciation that the aching Ranger did not bother to stifle when the cloth moved. In languorous, long strokes, the Wood-Elf buffed the Ranger’s back and shoulders, his hands massaging with the cloth to remove the dust and sweat of the days of travel that Aragorn could not even recall, as he had been unconscious with fever for most of the journey’s duration. His fingers kneaded the man’s shoulders and back, and the Ranger leant forward as the tense, sore muscles relaxed under the Elf’s skillful handling.

Although they had not spoken of it, the Ranger held the same sentiment as the Prince; Aragorn was weary of fighting, of the conflict that had surrounded the Wood-Elf and their union. He only desired to enjoy his love of the Wood-Elf. He grew tired of defending it, both to himself and to others. Therefore, it was with abandon that he gave himself to the comfort the laegel offered, although his mind balked at the reversal of such offering, for he thought to himself, _It is Legolas who needs comfort. Were I not sick, I could have been with him last night when he met with Thranduil._

The Ranger was convinced that the King would not try to harm him – at least, not with the twins in Mirkwood. However, none could afford the same support for Legolas, so rancorous doubts festered in his mind, his thoughts roiled with the upheaval of his buried worries, and a multitude of questions burned his tongue with the calidity of their aspiration to be free of him. The Ranger remained quiet and bid these thoughts leave him, for he did not desire to ruin the calm Elf’s composure.

Scooting in the scant area to the human’s side, the Wood-Elf began his washing anew, and the soaped cloth scoured the man’s arm and ribs ere he moved to the human’s other side, completing the same task there, also. The gentle machinations lulled the Ranger into a doze. His eyes slid shut several times, causing the human again to consider sleepily, _It should be I comforting Legolas._

Sliding around the healer, the Wood-Elf knelt in front of him. The human opened his eyes. The laegel did not appear discomfited or concerned as he soaped the Ranger’s broad chest; instead, the Wood-Elf smiled kindly, contentedly at Aragorn as he ran the cloth along the well-defined contours of the man’s torso. Estel smiled back, the Wood-Elf’s manipulation of the sore muscles of his chest – an ache born from the man’s inability to stop coughing – granted him respite from his tiresome thoughts. Taking each leg in turn, the Prince lifted the limb from the tub’s bottom, kneading and washing the Ranger thoroughly before he handed the cloth to the Adan, his smile widening as he reached for another cloth.

Taking the subtle instruction, the human finished the more intimate aspect of his bathing, while enjoying the show of the vibrant Wood-Elf doing the same sitting before him. The self-consciousness that had plagued the Wood-Elf directly after his attack was relieved, and the Woodland being scrubbed his flesh clean without timidity, much as he would have before the crimes perpetrated against him in Lake-town.

 _He is mesmeric,_ the Ranger thought as he had many times before. In the past several years, he had watched his love covertly, unwilling to admit to himself, much less to Legolas, that he desired the Elf. Now, however, he could stare openly at the laegel in admiration, and he did so without qualm.

Taking the oil soap in hand, the Elf helped the Ranger tilt his head back and washed the human’s hair before doing the same to himself. When the laegel was through, the bathwater had turned a pale shade of pink from the blood and wine that had stained the Prince’s hair.

His bath finished, the Elf left the tub without explanation; through the open fireplace and his half-closed, sleepy eyes, the Ranger saw Legolas moving about in the bedroom. Clenching his fists on the tub’s lip, the human focused on rising out of the cooling water without his tired, aching legs sliding out from under him. Although the bath had eased his hurting muscles, it had only intensified his exhaustion, and so it was with caution that he pulled himself into sitting on the tiled floor. Upon the laegel’s return, a weary, dripping wet Aragorn let the Woodland Prince lift him into standing, which proved a difficult task for the Ranger.

Aragorn chastised himself as the Elf wrapped a soft robe around his shoulders, _How can you meet Thranduil if you cannot even stand?_

Legolas wound the robe closed and cinched it about the Ranger’s waist. Taking the healer’s hand in his, the Wood-Elf led Aragorn from the bathing room with another kind smile. The Prince left Estel beside the bed to take the poker in one hand and a small log in the other; he brought the waning flames back to life swiftly. When finished, a clean, nude, and more sanguine Legolas stood up straight, the fire glowing behind him in the cool light of the late morning sunshine. Overwhelmed at the beautiful sight, the Ranger did not shuffle to the Elf as he had shuffled up the stairs on their way here; Aragorn strode to Legolas, and the Prince stepped forward to meet him when the human extended his arms.

The Prince’s stronger but more supple body melded easily to the Ranger’s sturdy form, and the warmth of the Elf’s bare chest against his own now uncovered torso caused the human to press into the Wood-Elf to pacify an instinctual need for reassurance – a reassurance that his lover was well. Slipping his arms around the Elf’s waist, the Ranger lifted the Silvan’s head up by using his cheek to nudge Legolas’ faintly bruised chin towards the vaulted ceiling; the human’s searing, stilted breath buffeted the laegel’s throat. The man’s warm lips followed in its wake, lightly trailing from the pulsating flesh at the base of the smooth column of the Prince’s neck up to his chin. He pushed the Elf’s cheek gently with his own, moving the laegel’s head to the side so that he could reach one of the gracefully pointed ears hidden in the damp strands of Legolas’ hair.

When he took Legolas’ lobe between his teeth, sucking at the tender flesh, the Wood-Elf rumbled deep within his throat. Aragorn could feel the vibrations of the pleased moan against his own neck as it erupted from the laegel.

“No, Estel,” the Elf sighed.

Immediately, the human stopped. “Greenleaf,” the worried Ranger murmured, tightening his hold of the Wood-Elf. “Are you well?”

The Elf moved his head away to rest it against the Ranger’s collarbone before he nodded it and then stepped back. His long fingers combing through the human’s hair, smoothing the wet curls on the Ranger’s forehead so that they lay flat against the man’s head, Legolas explained, “You are sick and need rest.” He grabbed Aragorn’s forearm, guiding him into sitting on the bed; the rekindled fire crackled, its warmth spreading to the chilled Ranger as he sat.

Sighing in consternation, Aragorn then noted the phial of oil he had brought from Imladris was on the nightstand. _He would not have placed this here unless he had planned to use it,_ the Ranger thought in amusement. Another jar, one which the Ranger recognized by its smell to be the mentholated salve his brothers coated him with each time he sniffled, lay beside it along with the herbs and a tall glass of water.

“I will be fine,” he countered to the Elf’s reasoning, resisting the laegel’s playful attempt to push him into lying on the bed. As if to bolster his statement, he popped the herbs into this mouth, chewing them into a fine paste with a grimace before swallowing the thick mixture with a gulp of the water. “See, I have taken my medicine.”

Laughing in amusement, the laegel finally managed to push the Ranger onto the bed. Straddling the human’s hips without sitting upon the Ranger, who was still prone to sporadic coughing, the nude and dripping wet Wood-Elf reached behind him to grab the jar of salve, laughing again as the human groaned.

“Do not complain,” the Prince teased. “This is also your medicine, Ranger.” Dipping his fingers into the oily substance, the Wood-Elf placed the jar on the bed beside them so that he could rub his hands together to warm the salve between them, ere he began to rub his hands across the Ranger’s torso.

The salve had always caused the Ranger’s skin to tingle, his nose to burn and his throat to ease, but now the mint substance merely caused him to shiver, for Legolas’ adroit fingers brushed mischievously along each of the Ranger’s dark, rotund nipples, inciting the reactive buds to harden. Aragorn watched the Prince’s gaze settle on one nipple, the laegel’s pink tongue darting out between his lips innocently to wet them, his face lax with desire, and his hands ceasing their tending. Creating a tousled tangle of sunlit ropes, the Elf’s hair hung down wet and unkempt, and his slightly battered appearance gave the Ranger pause. The sunlight from the airshafts overhead and from the windows illumed the natural light of the Elf and highlighted each drop of water that slid down the nude Prince’s fair skin, giving the Elf a bedazzled, bejeweled appearance.

A pool of sunlight lay on the motionless Wood-Elf’s belly; the Prince’s fine, golden curls surrounding his genitalia were hung with drops of glittering water. Aragorn reached out from where he lay on the bed to touch one iridescent drop on the Elf’s navel with his fingertip, but the water dribbled downwards at his contact, and so he trailed the wet path it left until it met with the flexure at the Elf’s thigh. Not truly aware of his actions, the Ranger caught with the tip of his finger another drop of water running lambently down the Wood-Elf’s honed stomach, which trembled under his finger, causing the Ranger to meet the silent Prince’s stare.

The same desire that inflamed the human’s tanned skin crept up the Elf’s body in a gentle flush of longing; Legolas slid his oiled hands up the Ranger’s slick stomach as he leant forward, placing his face inches from the human’s to whisper unconvincingly, “You are ill.” Even saying so, the Wood-Elf did not stop himself from capturing the man’s mouth, his lips pressing to the healer’s smooth lips. “You should be resting,” he added without vehemence.

Catching the laegel behind the neck, the Ranger pulled the Elf’s head back down and suckled at the Prince’s full bottom lip between his own. The Wood-Elf needed no further invitation to return the gesture. Legolas skimmed the Ranger’s chest and sides beneath him with his hands while he dropped his hips so that his burgeoning arousal lay against the human’s length.

Estel lifted his own navel to meet the Prince’s lower body. The sudden contact of their engorging shafts exacerbated the Ranger’s need to taste the laegel; and so, he wrapped his arms around the Elf’s spread legs and pulled the Silvan closer to him. The Prince walked forward on his knees across the bed until he straddled the Ranger’s chest. Before the Adan, standing proudly out from between the laegel’s strong thighs, was Aragorn’s bounty – merely a sample of the sum of what his Wood-Elf offered him. The downy sacs under the Elf’s smooth shaft were heavy but taut, evincing the desire that also shone blatantly on Legolas’ face. Taking the flushed head between his lips, the Ranger glanced to the Wood-Elf, wanting to see the rapture of his lover’s pleasure as he engulfed the Prince’s shaft within his mouth.

“Sweet Eru, Estel,” the laegel sighed as he placed his hands on the blanket above the Ranger’s head to keep himself from falling forward in bliss.

Aragorn had been denied the chance to please the Wood-Elf during their last tryst in the forest, for the laegel had been too busy extracting the Ranger’s atonement from him. This time, however, he intended to show Legolas the same adoration the Elf had shown him. Using his hands to survey with leisure every inch of skin on the inside of the Prince’s thighs, the Ranger glided over Legolas’ taut rear, letting his fingers caress the crevice between the shapely globes. He raised his head from the bed to whelm the entirety of the Elf’s shaft, taking the thick flesh into his throat until the need to breathe drove his head back onto the bed, his lungs burning with the desire to cough. Suppressing the reflex was too difficult for him, and the Ranger turned his head to cough into the bedspread.

“Estel –” the Wood-Elf began.

Not willing to permit his illness to keep him from the Prince, the Ranger licked the inside of his lover’s thigh gingerly, which elicited a soft gasp from the wanton Prince and silenced the laegel’s protest. The reclining Ranger’s torso was so broad that the laegel, who had a knee on either side of said torso, was having difficulty from refraining from sitting on the human’s chest when the man began to work his throat around the head of the Wood-Elf’s shaft. Resuming his exploration of the Prince’s flesh, Aragorn listened with satisfied excitement as Legolas nearly mewled in sensual bliss when the Ranger’s questing fingers found the Wood-Elf’s entrance. Although he was already tired and growing more so quickly, the human was still determined to soothe the laegel and have his fill of his lover.

“Hand me the oil,” he told the enthralled face above him, the light blue eyes darkened with lust. The Wood-Elf sat the forgotten jar of salve on the table and picked up the phial of oil he had procured from the Ranger’s pack. Legolas opened the stopper as though to pour the sweet smelling oil into his hand, but the Ranger stopped him, saying, “Let me, Legolas.”

Nodding in cheerful concurrence, the grinning Elf handed the phial to the Ranger, who poured the oil across the fingers of one hand, and then handed the glass vial back to the watching laegel. Scarcely had the Prince replaced the cork than had the Ranger already begun his preparation. Legolas dropped the oil, his hands once more shooting out to grasp the bedspread above the reclining Ranger’s head when the human took one of the downy sacs at the base of the Prince’s shaft into his mouth. Unable because of his position to reach to please the Ranger as the Ranger pleased him, Legolas could only moan in frustration and delight when the healer’s slicked finger breached him in a deliberate and gentle wiggle, pushing past the tight ring of muscle at his entrance.

The Ranger worked the body above him, sliding his slippery digit in timing with his gentle lapping of the Elf’s tender flesh. Silken and incredibly hot, his lover’s body opened to him, each stroke became deeper until the Ranger could massage the small rise within the Wood-Elf. Laughing, the Ranger added another finger as he teased, “It is your turn.”

The Prince was breathing in ragged breaths, laboring to keep from moving his hips lest he smother Aragorn. “What?”

Curling his fingers over the ridge, the Ranger said again with a grin, “It is your turn to be still.”

Through a strangled cry of pleasure, the Elf managed with a choke, “My turn…” The Ranger did not respond, but continued his sweet torment. The meaning of the human’s taunt finally hit Legolas, and his glare was comical from Aragorn’s privileged perspective.

Aragorn pulled the Prince to his side, and Legolas lay himself next to the Ranger, facing away from the man as the Ranger instructed. The human turned to lie on his side, as well. The Elf’s thinned back lay before him, the ribs too apparent. Tracing the Elf’s spine with his fingertips, the Ranger followed the line of Legolas’ backbone, smiling when the Wood-Elf laughed at the ticklish touch; that is, until the Ranger’s fingers slid between the oiled skin of the Elf’s rear. Arching back into the feather light touch, the Prince sighed agreeably, attempting to obtain the sensual gratification of the Ranger’s fingers within him again.

Legolas lifted his leg, spreading himself to the human’s access. Aragorn found the brazen desire erotic. He could bear it no longer. The Ranger seized his manhood by its base and scooted closer to the Elf. Entering the Prince’s body with a single, slow, shallow thrust, the Ranger growled as Legolas slipped his hands over his hip and under the Ranger’s arm, which held the laegel’s thigh comfortably in the air to spread his rear. The laegel pressed Aragorn’s lower back, willing the man to thrust farther into his primed body. Dissatisfied that he could not increase the Ranger’s welcomed intrusion, the Elf rammed himself downwards, gasping as the man instinctively bucked upwards.

Grunting at the unexpected force of the Wood-Elf’s passion, the human tightened his grip on the laegel’s leg as his sex was rooted deep within the Prince’s body.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had been wrong. He had told Aragorn on the mountain that though the Ranger held the Prince’s heart, Thranduil owned his body and allegiance; however, when the human whispered Legolas' name, his chest heaving against the Elf’s back as he tried to regain his breath, the Prince knew that the Ranger owned all of him.

It was not a passive or inferior tendering; it was not the man’s hard length that incited his submission; and it was not the softly spoken, tender words the healer uttered that crystallized the Wood-Elf’s surrender. As Legolas writhed his hips in eager anticipation that the Ranger would begin his thrusts again, the Prince reveled in the absolute absence of the scar’s demeaning voice, of his father’s hatred, and of his peoples’ worries. In the Ranger’s presence, with the human inside him and in his lover’s embrace, the Prince knew nothing but Aragorn. And though the peace was as ephemeral as that which he found through rending the awful scar, Legolas trusted no other serenity.

“Greenleaf,” the Ranger whispered breathlessly, shifting his hips slightly.

 _He is winded,_ the laegel noted, wishing the man had not chosen this position, for although it kept the human from bearing the Elf’s weight or from moving too much, it also aggravated the sick healer’s coughing. Legolas, however, knew the human wanted to please him and would not stop now, and so he did not argue.

“Legolas.”

Confused as to the Ranger’s need, the Wood-Elf twisted his hips downwards and the human moved away, but not out of the Prince.

 _Valar,_ the restless, needy Elf complained.

Prying the Prince's hand from his back, the Ranger threaded the Elf’s arm under his own thigh so that Legolas held himself open; with his now freed arm, the Ranger slipped his hand around the Elf, reaching for the solid length of the Prince’s arousal. His fingers playing lightly along the underside of the Prince’s shaft, Estel kissed the back of the Elf’s neck and rocked his hips forward, and his erection farther into the compliant Wood-Elf. After the echoes of Legolas’ cry of pleasure had faded, the Ranger rocked upwards again, the angle of his thrust changing so that it struck the rise of flesh deep within the moaning laegel.

Pitching his rear backwards, the Wood-Elf was surprised to find his movement blocked by the Ranger, whose hand had stopped stroking the Elf to hold firmly the Prince's slim hip. The laegel understood the Ranger’s intent and he ceased his effort, willing to play the game he had created many nights ago, though it was now turned against him. After a few moments of Legolas trying very hard not to squirm, the Ranger rolled his lower body into the Elf’s, his hand moving out of time with his thrusts to keep the Wood-Elf in constant pleasure. Cursing under his breath at the man’s intentionally measured, agonizingly laggard pace, the Prince soon cried out with each gentle press of the human’s cock within him and sobbed gutturally for air with each subsequent massage of the Ranger’s fisted, oiled hand on his shaft. Forever it seemed that the Ranger moved behind him, within him, building their release indolently, so pleasurably that it was almost painful to the Wood-Elf. He had never felt his desire for the Adan so acutely, nor had the need for Estel yet overcome him so completely. All rational thought ceased – there was only the human and this moment between them.

The laegel pulled his leg higher, eager to increase the pleasure from their passion by increasing the man’s shaft within him. The Ranger began to move frantically at this and the Wood-Elf returned each thrust with his own – no hand stayed his motion this time, and Legolas met the Ranger’s pace with a faster one, his abandonment of his inhibition coming naturally in his lover's company.

Nipping at the Wood-Elf’s shoulder, Aragorn teased, “You do not play fair, my love,” and then grunted as the Elf’s body began to clench around his arousal in response to the faster tempo, which had finally become too much for the wanting Silvan to endure.

He could not offer a rejoinder, for he was too immersed in the familiar joy and fulfillment of the Ranger’s seed filling him, the intense warmth of the man’s climax breaking the slack hold the Wood-Elf tried to maintain of his self-control. He bucked back roughly, his own seed spilling from him as his legs tensed and relaxed with each wave of release that wracked his body. Aragorn kept stroking the Elf’s shaft, milking from the Prince each last tremor of pleasure, and thereby causing the Silvan’s tightness to squeeze the Ranger’s girth with every thrust of the final throes of their passion.

Legolas lay spent, the Ranger curled over him, their bodies still joined, and neither wishing to move from this position. The Ranger held him more closely, kissing the sweat and bath dampened hair at the Elf’s neck as the laegel panted for air.


	38. Chapter 38

He sat back in the deep chair, resting his booted feet on the ornate balustrade that surrounded the balcony. The Greenwood – known as Mirkwood to most now – lay before him, washed clean by the night’s storms. The boughs of the tall trees and the verdant undergrowth were a vision not as extensive as that which he had enjoyed while on the Misty Mountains, but a magnificent view nonetheless. From his library’s gallery high atop the great mountain in which the palace was formed, Legolas could discern the Misty Mountains in the distance, their grey heights a stark contrast to the verdigris evergreens dotting the landscape. The budding deciduous trees, shorn of their leaves by the winter season, now sported glossy emerald, fledgling leaves. The forest of his home blanketed the earth almost as far as he could see.

Legolas had always enjoyed viewing the beauty of Eryn Galen from this balcony, for the darkness that tainted the woods farther south was not perceivable and the danger of the spiders and dark beasts that prowled the forest went unseen from such an altitude. As he was, sitting comfortably awaiting his penance to his father and Kane to be exacted, Legolas smiled. He mused, turning the Adan saying, one that he had heard Aragorn say before, into an adage appropriate to his situation; _I cannot see the trees for the forest._

The Wood-Elf stretched his arms out above his head, arching his back felinely as his smile widened. _All will be well after Kane has left,_ the laegel reassured himself without conviction. _Ada will not be as angry then._

Much like his view of the forest, the issue he now faced had a natural resolution. His father’s wrath, the twins’ and Aragorn’s worries, and his own misgivings were like the trees blending en masse afore him into an indecipherable chaos. He could see each tree, if he looked, as he could see each effect that his capitulation to his father’s will would have upon his friends and lover, and himself. However, the greater view, that which enabled him to see the forest as a whole, showed him that his reasons for complying with his King’s will were unimportant. A higher purpose, a farther distance from the petty or personal implications of his actions engendered his decision. Legolas clung to this belief, this solution. He needed it to endure.

“Prince Legolas?”

His quiet reverie broken, the surprised Wood-Elf craned his neck to see around the tall, straight back of his chair to find that Kalin stood in the balcony’s doors. Waving the sentry into the veranda, the laegel observed the sentry’s hesitance to enter, and then his reticence to speak. Legolas sat back in his chair, resting his hands across his stomach and closing his eyes. _I am not ready to see the trees just yet,_ he thought with dread, knowing that the sentry would try to extirpate him from his distant, unfeeling decisiveness. _Can I not just enjoy the forest?_

Kalin sat in the chair beside him; the Prince, unable to meet Kalin’s gaze, could feel his sentry’s scrutiny as easily as he had the Ranger’s earlier, but his friend startled him with a too-familiar gesture. Legolas jerked his head back when the sentry reached out, intending to inspect the bruise below the Prince’s eye.

“I am sorry,” Kalin apologized to his Prince, quickly withdrawing his hand.

Tired of making empty reassurances both to himself and to others, Legolas said nothing but sighed wearily at his sentry’s discomfort. It was not like the guard to be informal, and the Woodland Prince found it both heartening and draining. When it seemed that the sentry would make mention of from whom Legolas had obtained this bruise, the Elf interrupted with his own question, asking, “How is Oiolaire?”

Kalin cleared his throat. “He is fine. Lords Elladan and Elrohir have made sure of it.” Grinning with wicked humor, the sentry told his charge, “I just left the Noldor with Oiolaire. Although they said they only came to visit, when I left the three, Lord Elrohir was teaching Oiolaire how best to avoid such an injury in the future, and Lord Elladan had bandaged the wound that one of our healers had only just bandaged.”

Laughing, the Prince told his sentry, his voice that of a co-conspirator, “I sympathize with Oiolaire’s dilemma, but at least the twins are not pestering us.”

“My thoughts exactly,” came the grinning sentry’s rejoinder ere he pursed his lips and looked behind him into the library. “Where is Estel?”

“Sleeping,” the younger Silvan replied, smiling to himself.

Although he had wanted to stay in the Ranger’s company, the Wood-Elf had left the human to rest. By the time he had cleaned his lover, Aragorn had fallen asleep. _I promised him many days ago that I would wear him out._ The laegel snorted, earning him a confused stare from his sentry.

“He is fine,” Legolas added, explaining, “but needs to sleep.”

Nodding, Kalin replicated his Prince’s position by placing his own booted feet on the balustrade, and for several moments, the two sat in what normally would have been a comfortable silence. However, Legolas knew that his sentry had spoken with King Thranduil that morning, and the Prince’s desire to know what he might expect during his audience with his Ada made the silence unbearable. As if sensing his Prince’s perturbed thoughts, the sentry offered, “I met with King Thranduil before going to check on Oiolaire.” Kalin hesitated again before speaking and set his feet back on the floor. “The King wishes for you, Lords Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn to meet with him.”

This was no surprise. “We had planned on joining him for the noon meal.”

“His Majesty wishes to attend some personal matters this afternoon, and he has requested that you come tonight for dinner.”

 _Wonderful. This only prolongs the wait,_ the laegel complained to himself, but then thought, _at least Aragorn will have more time to rest._

Thinking aloud, he said with bitterness, “You mean that he wishes to sober long enough to meet with us. Had he not broken his last bottle of Dorwinion wine over my head he would no doubt not bother.” Legolas regretted his words instantly, for the sentry blushed in horror. Although the sentry knew more of Thranduil’s condition and Legolas’ subsequent suffering than most, Legolas and Kalin did not often speak of it, for they were always wary of someone overhearing.

From behind the two seated Elves came another voice, which claimed, “But you did look fetching with red hair, Legolas.” Both sentry and Prince craned their necks to see who walked through the open doors to the gallery, but Legolas knew Elrohir’s voice, and the meaning behind the humorless barb the Noldo had made.

 _More trees,_ the laegel thought with a silent sigh.

Kalin stood, bowing slightly to Elrohir, and then again to an affable Elladan when he followed his twin through the doorway. “If you will excuse me,” the disconcerted sentry pardoned himself to the Prince, “I have matters of my own to attend.” Shifting to stand away from the open chairs on the veranda so that the twins could use them, Kalin bowed his head in respect to the Noldor again ere he stopped, turning back to Legolas just as Elladan fell into the seat Kalin had just vacated. Elrohir sat on the balustrade and crossed his arms over his chest. “Legolas,” the guard implored quietly to gain his Prince’s attention. “Your father sent a messenger to Lake-town. Kane will arrive tomorrow evening.”

His mind was made but his courage trembled at the mere mention of the merchant’s name. Legolas swallowed the thick taste of fear, of the shame and sorrow that welled within him. “Thank you, Kalin.” With a final smile, the flustered sentry left Legolas alone with the twins.

They had nothing to do but wait.

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He tried to remain asleep. He wanted very hard to burrow back under the warmth of the blankets because he knew that once the haze of slumber left his mind, he would begin to cough again. _Go back to sleep,_ the Ranger told himself, pulling the heavy covers over his head, but his action disturbed the dust on the seldom-used blanket, which irritated his throat. Quickly, Aragorn sat in a daze, for he was unwilling to be caught in a coughing fit lying down lest he be unable to catch his breath. After several short, painful barks of coughing, the Ranger concentrated on breathing deeply and not on the insistent urge to cough again.

Muffling a yawn with one hand, the Ranger rubbed his eyes with the other, clearing them of the vestiges of sleep so that he could peer about the room. _Where is Legolas?_

He remembered Legolas leaving the bed only to come back a moment later with a soft, dampened cloth. After pulling the Ranger into lying with his head on the pillow, the laegel had sung softly, washing the exhausted human of the oil and spent seed of their lovemaking. At first, the Ranger protested, trying to sit, to take care of such a personal matter himself, but the Wood-Elf had only smiled and pushed the human back onto the bed. From anyone else such intimate treatment would have annoyed the Ranger, but from Legolas he found he did not truly mind – Legolas had certainly granted the Ranger such trust before. Closing his eyes when the Wood-Elf had finished washing him was the last Estel could recall.

Now, awake and troubled, the human gauged by the stripes of orange sunlight playing across the tile floor that it was likely late afternoon. _I wonder how long he has been gone,_ the Ranger worried. _It is well past the noon meal._ Estel slipped from between the covers, not realizing until his feet hit the stone floor with an exaggerated thud in the quiet room that he was fully clothed. His boots were laced and his robe exchanged for clothing suitable to meet the King. _I even slept through his dressing me._ Smoothing his wrinkled tunic, the Ranger stood, stretching his aching legs and arms out in careful, slow movements that belied the extreme urgency he felt. A clatter from the adjoining bathing room halted his step.

“Damn it, Elrohir,” he heard Elladan hiss. “Legolas will skin you alive when he sees the mess you have made.”

“Quiet, brother, lest you wake Estel,” the Ranger heard Elrohir chastise.

The Adan smiled but called out as he walked to the doorway between the two rooms, “It is too late, brothers.”

Ere the human had reached the door, a smiling Elladan appeared there with the basket that once held the clean towels. It was empty. “Estel. I see you are feeling better.” Turning back to glare at Elrohir, the Noldo teased, “Your buffoonery woke him.”

“It was you that woke him! Your voice grates one’s nerves more than a dragon in heat.”

Elladan snorted and returned his attention to his human brother. “I am glad you are awake. It seems we are having a problem finding something. Perhaps you can enlighten us as to where Legolas keeps his hairbrush?”

“Why do you ask Estel?” Elrohir quipped as he fished the once clean towels from the bathing pool and picked the shards of the shattered vase from the floor. “He wouldn’t know a brush if it –”

“If it were tangled in his hair, Elrohir, we know,” Elladan complained, grinning at Aragorn’s tousled chestnut waves. “You and Legolas must have had a difficult bath.”

The twins’ levity did not alleviate the Ranger’s concerns, and he grew frustrated at their humor. Intent on asking Elladan of Legolas’ whereabouts, the Ranger supplied, “I do not think the sentries returned it.” When his brothers only stared at him, Aragorn picked up his leather coat from the pile of baggage and explained, “Legolas’ hairbrush. It was amongst his things that we left behind when we were attacked in Mirkwood. He has another.” Although he bent down to retrieve the hairbrush the Prince had brought from Imladris, Elladan stopped him and searched the satchel the human indicated. With his coat in hand, the Ranger watched Elladan for a moment before the oddity of the twins’ search occurred to him. “Why do you want Legolas’ hairbrush? Where is he?”

“To brush Legolas’ hair,” came the droll call from the bathing room.

The eldest Noldo shook his head grinning. “To brush Legolas’ hair,” Elladan mimicked, his tone higher pitched than Elrohir’s in a mocking imitation. Snorting again, the twin added when he saw that the Ranger was truly exasperated, “Legolas is fine, Estel. He is sitting on the balcony of the library waiting for us to return with his brush. We are meeting with Thranduil for the evening meal and have been enjoying the fine weather.”

Aragorn reached inside the inner pocket of his leather coat to find his pipe and tobacco pouch, untouched since he had placed them there many days ago in Rivendell. _I won’t be smoking anytime soon,_ he thought, replacing the items with a frown of displeasure. Neither the twins nor Legolas would look kindly upon his smoking while sick.

“Finally,” Elladan nearly cried out, extracting the sought after brush from the chaotic satchel. “Come on, Elrohir. The sun will set before we get back to the balcony.”

 _I have been asleep for far too long,_ the Ranger decided, tossing his coat back onto the pile. _But at least this time I have not woken too late._

Elrohir scrambled through the door, slipping with an unElf-like grunt on the water from the dripping towels, ere he heaped them into the basket Elladan had sat by the bathing room doorway. “I am ready.”


	39. Chapter 39

With unnecessary flourish, Elrohir opened the door to the library, allowing the ill Ranger and his watchful, mothering brother Elladan into the spacious room. Hobbling somewhat due to his stiff muscles, the human crossed the library, admiring the beautifully carved shelves holding tomes and rolls that Aragorn was sure Legolas had never touched, for though the Wood-Elf loved to read, these books once belonged to the Queen. The entire suite of rooms had been the Queen’s quarters until she had passed from Arda to the Halls of Mandos. Out of respect for their lost Queen, no one else would use them; none save Legolas, who had moved into the suite after his Naneth’s death to be closer to what was left of his mother's memory.

Aragorn was pleased to see Legolas enjoying himself. The laegel was sitting on the floor before one of the tall chairs on the veranda, while his legs stuck out between the stone supports of the gallery’s balustrade and dangled over the edge. The Wood-Elf smiled at the horizon, for from the balcony, the spectacular, vibrant sun was setting in the west. It was just falling behind the Misty Mountains in the distance when the twins and Ranger arrived, much to Elrohir’s disappointment.

Elrohir groused, gaining the preoccupied Prince’s attention. “We’ve missed it, Elladan! I told you to hurry.”

The Prince laughed, and then smiled wider with pleasure when he turned to see the Ranger approaching. “The sun is like a grumpy, hibernating bear,” the laegel teased, grinning at Aragorn, who took the chair behind where the Prince sat on the veranda floor. Settling into the comfortable seat, Aragorn’s barely suppressed anxiety finally eased when the Wood-Elf laid his back against the Ranger’s legs, and his head on one of the Ranger’s knees. “Much like the kaimamoroko, Anor requires more sleep during the winter months,” Legolas continued, “and neither, it would seem, is yet ready for spring.”

If the twins thought their Woodland friend’s analogy odd, they found their human brother’s reaction to it even more so, and stared questioningly at the two lovers from where they stood beside the Silvan and human. Aragorn snorted and then burst out with relieved and amused laughter.

 _I am glad he is in high spirits,_ the Ranger thought, leaning forward to wrap his arms around the laegel’s shoulders and to growl softly in his ear, “You should not tease a grumpy, sleepy bear.” Laying his head back between the Ranger’s knees so that he could look up at the human peering down at him, the laegel merely smiled, and Aragorn hugged the Prince tighter to him, planting a quick kiss on the Wood-Elf’s forehead.

Elrohir sat in the vacant chair beside them. “I hope King Thranduil has a huge dinner planned. I am famished.”

Frowning at the mention of the upcoming confrontation, the sullen Ranger complained, thinking of the last time he had eaten, _This bear is no longer hibernating. I just hope Thranduil will offer more than wine and hostility._ The thinned Prince before him prompted the Ranger to wonder, _When is the last time Legolas has eaten?_

“Here, kaimamoroko,” the elder Noldo said with an astute smirk, making clear that Elladan, at least, had caught the joke between his brother and friend, even if he did not understand the story behind it. Holding out to the Ranger the hairbrush he had retrieved from the Prince’s baggage, the Noldo then sat on the armrest of Elrohir’s chair to say, “Let’s see if you can untangle the knot.”

Hoisting a brow in question, the Ranger received his answer from the only Elf who could not see said eyebrow, the Wood-Elf in front of him. The Prince covered his head with his hands and leant away, teasing, “Estel doesn’t know how to untangle a knot – his hair is never brushed!”

“I am beginning to think that the lot of you believe me to be utterly unkempt,” the Ranger grumbled, though he smiled at his lover and brothers’ laughter.

 _They are all in good spirits. I am glad they came to Mirkwood,_ the Ranger thought of his twin brothers, for it seemed that while he was sleeping, his brothers had kept Legolas entertained and happy.

Legolas’ laughter waned to occasional chuckles of delight, and the laegel finally sat up straight, allowing Aragorn access to his tangled hair by removing his hands. A matted portion of blond hair stuck up from the rest of Legolas’ head, and at first, the Ranger thought the tangle lay over the gash made by King’s wine bottle. However, as the Ranger began to brush through his lover’s hair, it became clear that it was not due to Thranduil’s attack that the tresses were mussed. Washed clean of the blood and wine, Legolas’ flaxen mane had tangled below the wound and above the Prince’s ear. The brush ceased its movements; the Ranger snickered when he realized what had caused the tangle, for the snarl lay just where the Elf’s head had thrashed against the bed when he and Legolas had made love after their bath. The salacious mental recollection of the Prince writhing before him caused the Ranger to inhale sharply, which in turn caused him to cough.

The eldest Noldo scolded, “Did Legolas have a hard time convincing you to wash?”

Aragorn was brought back from his inattention, his hands immobile no longer as he was drawn from his sordid imaginings. He picked apart the last entwined and knotted strand of hair with a smile, _It was not the bath that did this._

“You must have had a difficult bath,” Elladan reiterated, shooting the Ranger a meaningful, amused glare.

“You said that once before, Elladan,” Elrohir rebuked absently, his attention on the busy courtyard visible at the foundation of the gently sloped, rocky mountainside running the relatively short distance up to them. “Truly, brother, your jokes –” The distracted younger twin stopped, shook his head, and then began again, “You –” The Noldo stood abruptly to stare in earnest over the railing. “Sweet Eru, brothers. Look,” Elrohir demanded; the Wood-Elf rose from the floor, and the Ranger and Elladan complied, also, each rising from their seats to see of what Elrohir spoke.

Looking over the balustrade, Aragorn found what had caught his brother’s eye. On a horse so white that its coat nearly glowed in the dying sunlight sat a golden, ancient Elf who was familiar to all. “Glorfindel approaches,” he whispered to himself.

The golden rider entered the open, tall, magical gates of Mirkwood, dismounting ere his horse had stopped its violent gallop into the yard. The Ranger’s mind was not quick to catch up to what his eyes were seeing, but when it did, the Adan panicked immediately, certain that the commander would not have left his duties in Imladris without a very good cause.

 _What has happened?_ Before the cloud of dust stirred up by the commander’s steed had settled to the ground,Elladan fled the veranda, followed shortly by Elrohir, and finally by the Wood-Elf and alarmed Ranger. _Something is wrong._ The foursome hurried out of the library and into the hall, eager to hear what news the commander brought.

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“Why has he come?” the Ranger entreated quietly, though the Prince could not answer this question. Legolas could tell that the twin brothers also feared something ill had befallen Imladris or their father, for the Noldor ran ahead of them down the stairs, leaving the Prince to help Estel. Looping his arm through the Ranger’s, the Wood-Elf walked with Aragorn at a much slower pace, as the human’s strength was not yet fully returned and he could not navigate the steps with ease. Stopping to cover a cough with one hand, Estel added, “Glorfindel rarely leaves Imladris unless he goes to battle.”

Having no response, the Prince merely aided the Ranger in continuing down the stairwell, though he had his own suspicions as to why the commander had come to Mirkwood.

When the twisting staircase had finally wound down to the ground level of the palace, Legolas could hear the laughter of the twins in the adjoining hall of fire. The Ranger must have heard the same, for he relaxed noticeably against the Prince's arm at the sound. At this time of the evening, many Elves in the hallways loitered around the hall of fire, but they seemed to disperse when the Prince and Aragorn, who still leant on the laegel’s arm, walked towards them.

Legolas could feel their confusion. They did not hate him, they did not wish that he had died, but they did not understand why their Prince had lived through that which other Elves could not. He could feel them wondering whether the rumors they had heard of the King’s response to his son’s tribulations were true, and whether the King was just in his reaction. He could feel their judgment.

Walking into the hall of fire, the sight of the twins hugging Glorfindel, whom both twins considered as a sort of uncle, to use the Edain’s name for it, buoyed the laegel. _Nothing must be amiss,_ his relieved mind supplied, though it quickly countered, _which only makes it more likely Elrond has sent Lord Glorfindel here for a more devious reason._

“Prince Legolas,” the commander hailed when they had made their way across the vast room and to where the twins and the Balrog-slayer were standing beside a fireplace. Glorfindel bowed his head respectfully; such shows made on behalf of his royalty usually mortified the Prince, but never more so than when it was the esteemed Lord Glorfindel. However, the benevolent commander smiled at him, and then greeted the human, who had loosed his hold of Legolas to make his way to Glorfindel. “Estel.”

Embracing the commander, the Ranger sighed. “Ada is well? Imladris is well?”

“Yes, Estel. I am here only to be certain that you are safe,” the Balrog-slayer spoke, returning the Ranger’s hug, ere he loosed the human and looked beyond Legolas at something over the Prince’s shoulder.

The few remaining Elves in the hall of fire seemed suddenly to find that their presences were required elsewhere, for they soon had all left the great hall. _Ada is coming._

“I was not aware that Lord Elrond required assurance of his sons’ safety in my home.”

Legolas’ smile faded and his body stiffened. His father walked up behind him, placing a heavy hand on the back of the Prince’s tense neck.

Unperturbed at Thranduil’s snide remark, Glorfindel bowed, letting no emotion color his voice as he replied, “The Lord of Imladris desires his sons’ safety assured at all times and in all places.” The commander straightened, sweeping his hand from his chest as he acknowledged the King, “Mae govannen, King Thranduil. Lord Elrond sends you his greetings.”

“Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel,” the Woodland King replied in a similar, unreadable tone. “The border guard alerted me of your imminent arrival only moments ago. They reported you rode with great speed. Do you bring bad tidings, or is Elrond so concerned for his sons that he would send you here with such swiftness?”

While the twins and Ranger shifted uncomfortably at the King’s insinuation of mistrust between the two realms, a mistrust that was mostly just Thranduil's paranoia, Glorfindel showed no evidence that he heard the guarded, apprehensive intimation behind the King’s words, and instead explained, “Lord Elrond sends no ill news, but only wished to be certain his sons have arrived safely.”

Thranduil scoffed, his face, red already from the effect of the wine he had imbibed, grew a shade darker, and he scowled at the commander before glowering around the empty room and then at the twins and Ranger, “His sons are well, as you can see. Their safety is assured in Eryn Galen.”

 _Do not fight with him,_ the Prince thought, sure that he would receive the punishment for the political spat between the two elders, and then Legolas startled when Glorfindel eyed his battered face. The commander smiled reassuringly at the Prince as though he had heard the laegel’s plea. The smile, however, only intensified the Wood-Elf’s worry.

“Lord Elrond has sent me to assure the safety of his sons,” the commander restated, as though speaking to a daft Elfling, his bottomless blue gaze lighting upon each twin and then Aragorn, before finally settling on Legolas again, lingering on the Prince’s bruised countenance. Glorfindel added, “ _All_ those he loves as sons.”

Bristling, the King spat, “His sons are well, as is _my_ son.” The Wood-Elf tried not to recoil from his father when Thranduil’s hand on the back of his neck tightened, his fingernails digging into the Prince’s skin. The last thing he wished to do was shame his King in front of anyone, or shame himself further by acting a scared child in the presence of the commander.

Although the Wood-Elf showed no reaction, the Ranger standing across from him stepped forward with his eyes narrowed, but the commander’s blunt reply stopped him, “I see that he is, King Thranduil, and would see that he remains so.”

For a moment, the laegel worried his father’s ire at Legolas’ welfare being challenged would stimulate Thranduil’s dormant madness into violent fruition, but the King forced a laugh, rocking the Prince’s body with each jolt of the arm that held the back of his neck before Thranduil became suddenly somber. “I am Legolas’ keeper. I will see to him.” The drunken King quickly changed the subject before anything else could be said, offering, “But come, Lord Glorfindel. The young ones were joining me for the evening meal, and it would please me greatly should you join us.”

The King’s sneer contradicted the thoughtfulness of his invitation, but the commander did not hesitate to accept, despite his apparent weariness from the breakneck pace at which he had ridden and his disinclination to attend while filthy with the grime of travel. “Of course, your Majesty.”

The King grimaced and released Legolas. He turned, stumbling before them, leading their less than merry procession past the guards and down the long hallway of the King’s wing to the private dining hall in which Thranduil ate, if he ate at all, and generally by himself. Legolas walked behind his father and before the others, prepared to catch the King surreptitiously, should he fall. It was not like his father to be so intoxicated in front of others, and the Prince could only imagine that it was his fault that his father desired to drink away his cares.

 _I was wrong once more,_ the laegel thought. _He did not use this afternoon to sober but to prepare himself for my humiliation._

He felt embarrassed to have his friends see his father in such shape. Legolas knew the stilted undercurrent of the drunken King’s comments would incite one of the twins, or worse yet, Aragorn, into a confrontation. Legolas did not want an altercation started on his behalf, nor was he comfortable with the three Noldor and Ranger interfering with his affairs. His mind was made, he would meet Kane’s requisites, and his father would be appeased. He hoped that his friends would hold their tongues and let him do as he had promised his father.

 _I hope Lord Glorfindel has come to ensure that his charges tow the line,_ the laegel thought, following his father into the dining hall.

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Few were privy to the inside of Thranduil’s personal rooms, but this did not make the Ranger feel privileged upon entering them. The King lurched ahead of his dinner guests to sit at a small throne at the head of an even smaller, ornate table, around which had been sat five uncomfortable looking chairs. Although the King had invited them for dinner, the absence of the smell of baked breads or roasted meat precluded this. Thranduil’s dinner, it seemed to Aragorn, would be a liquid one, if the array of wines and liquors sitting on the shelves around the room were any sign.

Given the informal arrangements, none paid any mind to where they sat, and so when Aragorn entered the room behind Legolas, who moved to occupy the spot next to his father, the Ranger sat across from him and at the King’s other side. _Wonderful,_ the Ranger seethed. He wanted to be as close as possible to the father and son in the probable case that he would need to pummel Thranduil senseless. The King was besotted; his every word slurred, his every movement was exaggerated, and when he glared at his son, his every false smile became one tinged with the inexplicable, insufferable hatred he held for his Prince. _Thank Valar Glorfindel is here. Surely, Thranduil will behave himself in his presence,_ the Ranger decided, flashing a smile at the elder Elf, who only frowned at him. The Ranger took the commander’s dour countenance for what it was – a warning for Aragorn not to interfere in the royal family’s affairs. _He will have to stop me,_ the Ranger pledged, apprehending that Glorfindel would likely do just that.

Across the table from him, his lover smiled furtively, nervously. Thranduil’s displeasure at the commander’s attendance had not declined. The King grabbed the only object on the bare table, a goblet of dark red wine, its smell as potent as its proof. Taking the goblet in one shaky hand, the King held it up, unmindful as the liquid spilled over its rim and down the sleeve of his green silk robes, Thranduil heralded, “I should thank you, sons of Elrond, for accompanying my son to the Great Forest.” The King offered them a skeletal smile, and then downed the full goblet with a noisy swallow.

Accustomed and unbothered by Thranduil's poor manners, as they were very used to being welcomed lukewarmly by the King to his halls, Elladan spoke, “It was our pleasure.”

“I am sure it was, Elrondion,” Thranduil sneered, grabbing a rope that hung from the ceiling beside him. Pulling the cord with several short yanks, the King smiled at them, “Our meal should be here shortly.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, King Thranduil,” Elrohir said. “And for the use of your healers.”

Not bothering to hide his obvious lie, the King snorted. “The sons of Elrond are always welcome in my home, as are his servants,” Thranduil added, casting his disparaging, icy blue gaze to both Glorfindel and Aragorn. The King had never liked the Ranger, and the twins and Glorfindel Thranduil could tolerate only because they were Elven Lords.

In the King’s thinking, however, Estel was nobody, a human Ranger who had forsaken his throne, an act the King could not condone. That Thranduil did not consider him one of Elrond’s sons did not go unnoticed by the Ranger, but he was not offended. He had grown used to the King’s dismissal and expected it. _I am, after all, everything that he wishes Legolas not to be._

The King stood, striding to a shelf to select a bottle from the variety storied there. As if an afterthought, Thranduil addressed the twins, speaking as though the human did not sit at his table, “I understand that the Ranger is sick.” Filling his goblet with the undiluted, rich wine, the King added, “My healers are not experienced with human weaknesses, but I am glad that they were of help.” Bringing the bottle with him, the King reseated himself, sweeping his lank hair from his shoulders brusquely ere he drained his goblet once again and glared at Legolas with unwarranted revulsion. “At least the human’s weakness is treatable.”

The thinly veiled affront insulted both the Ranger and Legolas' fortitude, but it did not anger the Ranger that the King had called him weak. To Estel, the Prince was the strongest person he had met, and he could not suffer the King making Legolas revisit these doubts. A soft knock at the door ended the artificial conversation, though, and Estel’s nose caught the smells for which he'd been hoping. A servant carrying a tray of freshly baked bread walked through the doorway trailed by several others, all of whom were laden with meats, fruits, sweet butter, and pitchers of clear, cold water.

“Thank you,” the King said politely when the Elves had finished setting the table, smiling at the servants with more warmth than he showed his guests. With no plate before him, Thranduil gestured towards the array of food with his newly filled goblet of wine, suggesting, “Please, do not wait for me. I find it hard to eat when my mind is ill at ease.”

Gathering a portion of the roasted venison Elladan passed him, the Ranger grinned in relief. _It is a good thing we are not waiting for your appetite to be whetted, else I would starve ere your mind was ever anything but ill,_ Estel decided rancorously.

The ambient sounds of passing plates and filling water goblets were the only noises at the small table until Glorfindel remarked, “A hunting party found the Orc bodies that your party left on the mountainside, Prince Legolas.”

“Ah, you should have seen Legolas,” Elladan bragged to Glorfindel. “He had killed half the Orcs before the rest of us could draw our bows!”

Legolas’ fair face blushed lightly at the praise but Thranduil’s grunt of disbelief turned the glowing flush of embarrassment to one of disgrace when the hard to please King inserted his own, unwanted opinion, “You did not kill all of them, son? Perhaps you should spend more time practicing.”

A short silence followed the rhetorical question, broken only by the occasional gulp of wine by the King, until the commander tried to speak with the Prince again. “The hunters found an Orc arrow covered in Elven blood. Was one of your sentries injured?”

Pushing a piece of bread around his mostly bare plate, Legolas replied, “Yes, Lord Glorfindel. Oiolaire was struck with the arrow when he was scouting ahead of us. He will be well. The wound was superficial and the arrow not poisoned.”

Glorfindel nodded, chewing his mouthful of food thoughtfully. “When the hunting party returned with news that one of your party was likely injured, I thought it best I catch up with you to offer an escort back to Imladris for whomever was wounded. However,” the commander said, helping himself to more fruit, “it seemed that I could not match your pace because I did not catch up to you before you reached home. Had this something to do with your becoming sick, Estel? Why did you not turn back to Imladris?”

“It was only a passing sickness.” Although Glorfindel did not appear pleased with Elrohir’s explanation, he did not try to lecture them in front of the King. The lecture, Aragorn knew, would come later. “He is too troublesome to succumb to such a thing,” his brother teased him with a wink, answering for the occupied Ranger.

Aragorn could not manage to chew as fast as his hands sought to stuff the soft, warm bread into his mouth. They were all famished; none of them had eaten anything substantial in several days. All but Thranduil and Legolas partook of the food before them with fervor. Legolas stared into his plate absently, having put aside his bread and now moving the meat around with a distant stare. _Eat, Legolas,_ the Ranger thought.

Thranduil slammed his emptied goblet down onto the table, pulling Aragorn from his thoughts. “You seem to cause trouble everywhere, human,” the inebriated King railed without preamble as he finally addressed the Ranger’s existence. He watched the King for a moment, pondering whether to answer Thranduil’s slight or not. Legolas finally looked up from his plate. The Wood-Elf’s unspoken plea begged the Ranger to remain quiet, and so Estel held his tongue. His silence did not keep the King from continuing, filling his cup as he accused, “Your human influence has tainted my son. You have turned my son into a whore.”

Aragorn could see the Prince retreating within himself, withdrawing back into the aloof and detached, blank state that he and the twins had fought hard to keep at bay. With each of his father’s incriminations, the laegel’s numbness intensified – Estel could see it in his lover’s face. Never had the King acted thusly in front of them, he was sure, and for it to happen now, when Legolas was at his lowest, riled the Ranger. His ability to withstand the King’s treatment of Legolas was growing thin and the human could not hold his tongue any longer. “Do not speak ill of Legolas. He is no whore.”

“Did you enjoy the merchants’ show?” the King roared, rising from his seat to glare down at the human. “You will not speak to me so, murderer. You have killed two of your own kind for bedding my son, only to bed him yourself.”

The Adan stood, facing the incensed King fully. Glorfindel spoke softly, admonishing the Ranger for the tactless words looming behind his angered visage, “Estel, peace.”

However, the Ranger’s ire was too far gone and he heeded neither Glorfindel’s warning nor Legolas’ pleading look. “Hatred and alcohol clouds your sight, _your Majesty_ ,” the Ranger sneered in a perfect facsimile of the King’s scowl, “else you would see that you sacrifice your son out of love for your wine. You would invite his attacker to your home to –”

“Estel –” the Wood-Elf tried to interrupt, not wanting the Ranger to tell his father of his first attack.

Growling viciously, the King swung his arm once through the air to throw his bottle across the room, which hit the wall in a torrent of wine and glass, as he shouted, “Legolas should have let you die. You have corrupted him with your disgusting preference for males, and you have soiled him with your seed.” The Elf-King then pulled his arm back, his fisted hand aiming for the Ranger before anyone could diffuse the hostility with words.

The Ranger could not have evaded the blow had he tried – even drunk, the King moved more quickly than the human did. Ere either twin or Glorfindel could rise to Aragorn's aid, however, Legolas had leapt from his chair and flew at the King, his hand rushing out to seize Thranduil’s arm. All movement ceased in the room. Aragorn could only hear the rasping sound of his own rapid, labored breathing.

“He is mine,” the Prince cautioned, though his voice was merely a whisper. “Do not touch him.” Releasing his father’s arm and flinging it away from its intended target, the Wood-Elf unbalanced his sovereign accidentally, sending the intoxicated King of Mirkwood stumbling backwards and onto the floor.

 _Sweet Eru, no,_ the Ranger thought, his mind flooded with horror. Aragorn looked to Legolas. He saw the flash of fear on the Prince's face, for the Wood-Elf had not meant to assault his father; however, the Ranger also saw something he had never seen on the Silvan’s fair features when looking to his Ada – hatred. The laegel became absolutely still. Around the Ranger, the twin faces of his brothers were pale with shock, while Glorfindel, who had risen from his chair the moment the King had fallen, watched Thranduil with impenetrable impassiveness, his warrior’s instinct judging the King’s next action.

Rising from the floor where he sat, using the tapestry behind him to haul himself up, and carelessly ripping the ancient fabric, Thranduil grinned murderously at his son. “And you are _mine_ , Legolas. Perhaps I have been too lenient with your upbringing,” the King slurred, finally managing to stand and raise himself to his full height. He walked to Legolas. “The human has not only made you into his whore, but also his protector, I see. Apologize immediately.”

“I am sorry, Ada,” the sincerely contrite laegel whispered, bowing his head. “I did not mean to cause you to fall.”

Trying to step forward, to smear the self-satisfied smirk from the King’s face, Aragorn found himself pulled abruptly, painfully back into his seat. Glorfindel held the Ranger by the back of his tunic, preventing the angry human from attacking the King.

A guard, drawn by the noise of the falling chair and breaking glass, burst through the door, winded and confused. He stopped short of running headlong into the King. “Your Majesty?”

“All is well, Ninan,” the King barked, causing the sentry to jump at the shout. Thranduil walked so that he stood directly in front of his son and glared down from his taller height at the reticent Prince. “We will speak of this later,” Thranduil promised Legolas before he ordered the guard, “Take the Prince to his quarters.” Glancing around the wrecked dining room, the King glared at Aragorn, adding, “Tell Kalin to keep watch outside his door – Legolas is to have no visitors.”

The laegel kept his head down. He did not resist the sentry’s guiding hand when Ninan promptly led him from the room. Smiling acerbically at his guests, Thranduil bid his farewell to them, saying, “Enjoy your stay, and let your departure come soon,” before he stumbled out of the room, leaving the twins, commander, and Ranger, who still struggled to be free of Glorfindel’s grasp, to stare after him.

 _I should have kept my mouth shut,_ the Ranger berated himself, ignoring the rip of his tunic as he tried to haul the fabric from Glorfindel’s hand. With the King’s promise to speak with Legolas later reverberating through his consciousness, Aragorn turned to his brothers for a sign as to what they should do, but found them as clueless as he was. _I cannot leave him alone._

“Estel, stay seated,” the commander hissed, pushing the Ranger back into his seat again and holding him there. The human did not try to rise another time; Glorfindel wanted him to listen, and if he had learnt nothing else from the skilled and intelligent elder Elf, he had learnt that Glorfindel, much like his foster father, would have his say. Estel glanced helplessly around the dining hall, wishing his brothers would follow the Prince, since he could not. “You cannot rush into a scuffle with the Elvenking. You are a guest in his home. Stay here.”

Distrusting his ears, the Ranger asked, “Stay here? Thranduil has just promised to beat Legolas and you would have me sit and wait?”

“You are only making Thranduil mad,” Elladan offered.

Elrohir appended, “Which only makes this worse for Legolas.”

He had thought his brothers would have stood up to the King with him; he had thought his brothers would have defended their friend. _They would do this diplomatically. They would do this with words. They would rather let Legolas suffer than anger Thranduil._ Fury welled within the Ranger but he quelled it. His brothers and Glorfindel were acting more rationally than he was acting, this he knew. More Elves and humans than Legolas and he were involved. The twins and commander represented Imladris while in Mirkwood, and they would not instigate problems between the two realms when Thranduil already did not fully trust the Noldor. Perhaps Thranduil did not normally abhor his son or treat him as poorly as he did these past few days, but even with the awful circumstances in which they all found themselves, Estel found it hard to maintain his usual decorum.

Aragorn, however, represented nothing but that which the King hated, and he would not be dissuaded long. He relented, if only for the moment. “Fine,” the Ranger conceded. “If we do not throttle the King, then what solution do you offer?”

Elrohir pushed his plate away from him, his hunger as forgotten as the meal cooling on the table before them; Elladan would not meet the Ranger’s gaze. Glorfindel was not so reticent, and told the Ranger straightforwardly, “We do not interfere. We allow Legolas to make his own decisions.”

“For all your fine talk of keeping Elrond’s sons safe, you would have me leave Greenleaf to face his father’s anger alone?” _I will not be absent again. I will not let Thranduil hurt him again,_ the Ranger added to himself.

“Estel.” As a child, he would have shuddered to hear the commander say his name in anger, but now, as an adult, he merely quieted. “You treat him as his father does,” the commander stated evenly, replacing his goblet of water on the table after taking a long draught of the cold liquid and then explaining, “You treat him as though he is weak.”

Immediately, the Ranger balked at the accusation. No longer caring that the commander was upset with him, Aragorn shook his head. “I do not treat him as though he is weak. His father hates him. I love him. I do not make his decisions for him; I am only trying to keep him safe.”

“Legolas needs to do this for himself,” the commander replied softly, knowingly, and the Ranger found himself wondering what sagacity Glorfindel was relying upon to encourage the human's inaction. “It does not help him for you to fight his battles for him. He must stand up to his father alone. If you do it for him, you only show him that you think him weak. He has forgiven you once for treating him as such, when you attacked Mithfindl.” The elder warrior sighed and stood. “Legolas needs to find his own strength. He cannot rely on you for this and you should not let him.”

 _They do not understand,_ the Ranger decided, noting that the twins nodded in agreement with the commander’s statements. _They do not understand what the scar does to him and how it affects him, or how it will help Legolas’ father destroy him._

“We worry for him also, Estel. But come,” Elladan asked, standing with his twin. “Let us go find Kalin. Perhaps he can speak with Thranduil for us. We must approach this with even tempers.”

The Ranger was eager to find the sentry himself, for Kalin was the only one who could allow him to see the Prince. He did not want the Wood-Elf to be alone.

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He followed Ninan up the main stairwell. To the Elves that passed Legolas and Ninan, the two were merely walking up the stairs together. Neither gave any indication that the Prince had just been ordered to his room under an armed escort – not that Legolas would have tried to flee, and even if he had, Ninan would never have used violence to corral his Prince into following the King's orders.

 _It is just how Ada is,_ the Wood-Elf thought, slowing his pace as Ninan stopped before him to avoid the reckless path of a young Elfling racing down the stairs. _It is just ill fate that I have a father who hates me._ The empty reckonings did not comfort, so he just walked, following Ninan up the stairs and then down the hall of his rooms. The guard said nothing but held open the door to the Prince’s bedroom, his head hanging and his gaze carefully avoiding Legolas.

He stepped into the room, expecting the guard to shut the door behind him without a word, but Ninan hesitated. Legolas felt the sentry’s discomfort when he apologized, “I am sorry.” The sentry swept the door shut but spoke quietly before the wooden barricade had met its frame, “I will find Kalin.”

 _I should not have assaulted him,_ the laegel thought, sitting on the end of his bed. He realized that his father’s hatred was his fault, and this time, at least, he knew he deserved whatever punishment his father would find for him later. The sweet smell of the soap he and Aragorn had used earlier still clung sharply to the air, the bed was in disarray from the Ranger’s nap there, and an earthier, salty smell caused the Elf to smile in remembrance of the pleasure he and the human had shared.

He wanted Estel with him.

Laying back on the bedspread, Legolas dug his heels into the mattress to push himself farther up the bed until his head was even with the pillows. A groove, slightly damp with bathwater but long grown cold, lay in the middle of the soft pillow from where the Ranger’s head had reclined against it as he slept. The laegel pressed his own head into the indent and closed his eyes. The fire had died out sometime during Aragorn’s nap, or perhaps during their dinner with the King, but the Prince did not rise to relight it. He could not feel the algid air.

 _You should not have assaulted him,_ the throbbing scar told him, mocking him with both its sudden appearance and its damning words. Legolas’ hands clenched painfully shut.

He would not fight the scar with pain. His revelation of the scar’s true character had not faded from the laegel’s mind. _I should not have assaulted him,_ he agreed, shutting his eyes against the overwhelming feeling of being crazy for arguing with himself, and added, _But I will not let Estel suffer my father’s anger._

His tense muscles relaxed when the scar did not answer him immediately but the reprieve was temporary, for the scar spoke again, telling him what he already knew, _You should not have argued with him. You should not have fought against him._ The Prince had not the time to respond, for his bedroom door was flung open with enough force to make the laegel’s teeth rattle when the portal hit the stone wall behind it.

The King had not bothered to knock when he entered his son’s rooms in his fury; Legolas scrambled to the end of bed as quickly as possible to greet his father, but he did not have the chance to stand or begin his apologies. Thranduil grabbed the front of Legolas' tunic, hauling the slighter Elf off the bed and off his feet to throw the Woodland Prince to the floor in a heap. Legolas' knees contacted with the unforgiving stone floor, sending radiating pain from his legs and through the scar. Its hateful discontent simmered in agreement with the King’s odium.

“I am sorry,” the Prince began, lowering his head in sincere regret without bothering to rise. He had embarrassed his father, his King, in front of those whom the King did not trust. “I am sorry, Ada, I did not –”

“Quiet,” the drunken King roared, kicking out at his fallen son but missing the Prince only because his balance wavered. His misaligned kick only served to anger the King further; he spat at the Prince, regaining his balance with unusual grace, considering his intoxication. “You are my son, Legolas. Not Elrond’s. You belong to me. These Noldor have corrupted you against your home and her King.”

Legolas looked up to see his father walking to the fireplace. His mind reeled with his father’s change of tactics. The King’s maddening logic now questioned the Prince’s fealty to the forest, to his home, but the laegel was accustomed to this condemnation and only replied his unheard chorus of apology to the King’s enraged monologue. “I am sorry, Ada.”

The Prince’s body heaved forwards and the air rushed from his chest when he saw the King pull the iron poker from the dead fireplace. “I meant no disrespect,” the laegel tried to say, but his words were barely whispered as he found he could not breathe when his father turned to look at him.

There was nothing left in the elder Elf’s eyes of the father he had once known; there was only icy, blinding hatred. He had never before feared for his life in Thranduil’s presence. Forcing himself to look down from his father’s murderous wrath, the Elf braced himself for the inevitable impact. He would not give Thranduil the satisfaction of knowing how badly the King’s hatred wounded him. Legolas tried not to cower under the threat of his father standing above him.

Thranduil made a show of sniffing the room as if he could smell the human's previous presence there, and though Legolas did not raise his head to see the King’s face, he could imagine the scowl of revulsion on Thranduil’s flushed features. “Disgusting,” the King hissed, and then grunted with the force of his downward swing of the poker.

The rod of iron hit the Prince evenly across his back, under his shoulder blades. Lacerating pain shot through the laegel’s arms and they gave way beneath him. He fell to the floor, his chin catching on the stone. He lay like that for a moment, stunned.

Legolas’ arms were alarmingly numb but he found he could move them. In trying to push himself off the floor, to crawl to his knees again, the Elf did not see his father’s next swing, and so was not prepared for the agony of the poker coming down hard across his back, the hooked end scraping through his tunic and into the flesh of his lower torso.

“Whore,” his father slurred.

Crying out softly from the unchecked sorrow lancing through him as much as from the physical pain, the Prince fell to his side instinctively to grab the slash across his lower back. Rubbing the agonized flesh with his hand, the wet warmth of his blood smeared across his fingertips.

“I can smell the human’s seed,” Thranduil huffed, staggering to the bed. He sneered at Legolas, hefting the poker in his hand and saying, “You continue to embarrass me and Eryn Galen.”

With devious alacrity did the King leap forward, falling to his knees beside the prostrate Prince to push the young Elf onto his back before he could rise again. The King pressed the iron bar across his son’s throat, keeping the Prince from moving as he straddled the smaller Elf. Although he tried to turn his head to avoid the pressure of the bar, Legolas could not escape the suffocating, crushing burden as his father exerted his weight against it to lean over the Prince. Legolas snaked his arms under the poker, pushing up against the rod as he struggled to draw a breath through his constricted, tortured throat.

 _He means to kill me,_ the Prince thought somewhat deliriously. The King had begun to cry, or so it appeared to Legolas, although his vision was becoming increasingly dim, as was his father’s face. The Prince could not counteract the King’s weight against the poker except barely enough to keep it from crushing his throat, such that his mind began to darken, as well.

“You will abandon me again,” the King complained, removing his hands from the poker with reluctance, as if he regretted that he could not kill the Prince.

Legolas’ failing lungs expanded quickly, filling with air as his throat began to convulse, which was already swelling from the damage inflicted upon it. The Prince could not seem to open his eyes but he could hear the defeat in his father’s voice; when he tried to roll away from the King, Thranduil grabbed his son and sat back on the Prince’s stomach. He hauled Legolas up by his shoulders to slam the younger Elf back down against the stone floor.

“You will not abandon me again, Legolas. You are _my_ son.” The back of the Prince’s head struck the thinly carpeted rock with a nauseating thud that Legolas was sure had cracked his skull.

No longer merely darkening but completely benighted, the laegel’s thinking supplied only his usually response to his father’s anger, and his tormented throat could scarcely whisper, “I am sorry, Ada.”

The King pulled the younger Elf up by his shoulders again, and the Prince, sure that his father intended to kill him, did not fight Thranduil, although he could feel himself losing consciousness, and thereby any control over the situation. But Thranduil sobbed and let go of Legolas, who could not stop his inert body from falling painfully back to the floor, his head striking the stone again. Crawling from atop his son, the King sat down on the carpet and seized Legolas’ forearm. He pulled the young Elf to him, gathering the battered Prince in his arms. Although the young Silvan could feel his father’s mournful plaints and knew the King wept, he felt no love from the elder Elf’s embrace. The King was not crying for him; the King cried for himself. Why this was so Legolas could not understand.

“I know you are sorry,” the King said, cradling the Prince’s head in the crook of his arm. “You are too much like your mother.” He had never heard his father weep so openly. “You will abandon me as she did.”

Legolas fought to comprehend what his father was telling him. “No, Ada,” he whispered, the haze finally leaving his vision. “I will not, I promise.”

 _Your promises are worth nothing,_ the discordant marred flesh of his thigh told him. _You are worth nothing._

“You have already abandoned me,” the King countered, releasing the Prince roughly. The laegel rolled with the momentum off his father’s lap until he lay on his side once again in the floor. He did not rise; he could not rise. Thranduil stumbled to his feet and then to Legolas. Standing over the Prince, the King accused, “You left me to grieve alone after your mother died. You preferred the company of the Noldor to mine. You have abandoned me to rule alone each time you have traipsed the forest with your foolish human lover.” Watching his father choke against the tears of betrayal from a wrong the Prince was not aware of making against the King, Legolas blinked rapidly from his position on the floor to maintain focus on his father’s words. “Do you think I do not know what your selfish love of the Ranger will do? You will die; you will abandon me when he passes. I will spend my years in Valinor alone.”

The King snorted, falling into a seat on the bed behind him as he charged, “You would choose a human over your father. At least if you had died fighting bravely you would not have betrayed me, but you chose to shame yourself and me, all for that foul Ranger.”

_It would have been better had you faded. Your surviving has only caused everyone grief. Their love for you has only hurt them._

Shaking his head as if perplexed by the bleeding, bruised Prince lying in the floor in front of him, Thranduil stood slowly, his long robes swishing about him as he strode from the room. His father’s one-sided conversation confused the laegel but it wasn’t long before Legolas' rapidly fading, traitorous consciousness prevented him from giving the King’s accusations any thought. With a click of the wooden door against its frame, the laegel lying on the floor let the blackness take him where he would not care that his father wished him dead, and where the scar would not haunt him with his self-doubts.


	40. Chapter 40

Walking up the great staircase, the twins and Ranger stopped politely when Thranduil rounded the stairwell to walk downwards past them with his few guards close behind him. Rudely, albeit expectedly, the King did not speak to the Noldor or Ranger but strode down without greeting. However, Thranduil had not moved quickly enough that his appearance would go unnoticed, and the twins shared a worried look between them, while Estel merely gaped after the retreating Elf-King’s back.

 _He has been weeping,_ Estel thought. Thranduil’s face had been blotchy and reddened from the wine he had imbibed, but it was not this that gave the elder Elf’s grief away; the Woodland King had not bothered to wipe the tears that trailed down his face.

“Remember what Glorfindel has told you,” Elladan advised in a whisper once the King had passed, though he hurried their pace up the stairs.

Glorfindel had not come to Mirkwood on Elrond’s orders, but rather out of his own concern for the twins and Ranger, and to preserve the delicate peace between Mirkwood and Imladris. What Glorfindel had told the young human was simple – if Estel created an uproar or disturbance of any kind, King Thranduil would not need to punish the Ranger, because the commander would kill him.

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“Prince Legolas?”

Someone was shaking him, and by the tone of his voice, the person was terrified. By the second gentle shake, the person gave up trying to wake the Wood-Elf in such a way and instead decided to pat the Prince's face. He turned his head away from the contact and tried to open his eyes.

 _What is wrong?_ Not yet awake enough to realize where he was, the Prince attempted to rise to arms only to realize that he was being held against someone, Kalin, whose palpable unease had made the Prince reach instinctively for his weapon in the first place.

Realizing that he could not respond to his sentry because he could not seem to inhale the air necessary to do so, the Wood-Elf panicked and tried frantically to fill his lungs. Swollen and bruised, his throat could not draw in enough air to relax his fear, and so he bucked in the sentry’s arms. His anxious, rapid breathing would not cease; he continued to arch away from the unperceived threat that squeezed his throat painfully shut. Struggling to disentangle his arms from Kalin’s, the Prince reached for his throat, his fingernails gouging at his neck. He had to remove whatever kept him from breathing. Without air and ignorant to anything but his desire to have it, the haggard, weakened laegel suddenly found his hands wrested away from his throat.

“Wake up, Legolas,” Kalin cried quietly, perhaps believing the Prince to be in the depths of a nightmare. “What is it, my Prince? Please wake.”

Legolas calmed as his senses returned to him with the vocal reminder of the sentry’s presence, which in turn steadied his breathing; he quickly found that if he inhaled slowly enough, air would reach his lungs and thereby clear his vision. Hovering above him was a pale hand, which swept the hair from his eyes. Above the hand was the fair face of his sentry and above his sentry was the ceiling of his bedroom. Why he was lying on the floor, why he could not breathe, and why Kalin was terrified came to him in a sudden rush, and he immediately sought to tell the sentry that he would be well, but when he attempted to speak, Legolas’ throat constricted in a spasm that robbed him of even his slight ability to breathe.

“I will get the Noldor,” Kalin offered hastily in response to the Prince’s wheezing and his inspection of the darkly inflamed flesh of Legolas' neck. He sighed upon chancing to notice the claret that now stained his clothing from holding the Prince’s bleeding, concussed head. “You need a healer.”

If his father discovered that Kalin had defied his orders, the sentry would be relieved of his duties – and this only if the King discovered that Kalin had entered the room himself. If he allowed the twins and Ranger within, Thranduil would accuse the sentry, Ranger, and the Noldor of treason, regardless of their stature, for disobeying his orders in his land.

“Do not let them in,” he whispered to the sentry, wincing as a second, lesser spasm wracked his throat.

Kalin did not wish to agree to his Prince’s command. Normally, the guard would not have argued but did not hesitate now. “Your throat appears to be closing, Legolas. I do not know what you need but the Noldor will. Let me go get them.”

“Do not let them in,” he asserted with as much force as his starved lungs could muster.

The sentry nodded. Kalin understood his Prince was ordering him, not asking. “Then let me help you to the bed,” Kalin sighed, not waiting for a response before hefting the Prince easily from his lap and fully into his arms.

Closing his eyes, the Wood-Elf tried not to let Kalin see how much the pressure of the sentry’s arm under his battered back was hurting him, and so clenched his teeth, bearing the agony until Kalin had carried him across the room and laid him down on the bed. Dragging the covers from under his liege, the sentry then settled them over Legolas, helping the Prince adjust himself into a comfortable position on the bed.

“Thank you,” Legolas murmured, leaning his head farther back into the pillows on which it laid. He could not seem to open his throat anymore, and the terror of being unable to breathe aggravated his already alarmed disposition.

The scar was waking.

Pouring a glass of water for Legolas, he helped his Prince to drink; the cool liquid soothed Legolas’ inflamed throat. Glancing at the door, the sentry paled and wiped his face clean of tears. “Someone is coming,” he said, spilling the glass of water across the bedside table in his hurry to leave the room. “I will be back to check on you,” Kalin promised.

The Prince shook his head. “Do not, Kalin. Do not get caught. Let no one in.”

Pained at the thought, the sentry agreed unwillingly and slipped out the door.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The locking mechanism clicked, and the door of Legolas’ bedroom was fanned open only enough for Kalin to slide through it. The sentry was unfazed by the two Noldor and Ranger running at full tilt towards him. Across the white sleeve of one arm lay a line of dark blood and unbridled tears ran down the sentry’s cheeks; however, his face was stoic but firm. “The Prince is resting.”

Jostling Elrohir out of the way upon noting the silvery, crimson blood on the sentry’s shirt, the Ranger tried to see into the room but could not, as the sentry shut the door quickly behind him while walking out. A brief glimpse of the Prince lying on the bed was all he earned for knocking Elrohir into Elladan, except a disdainful glare from the twins. It was not enough to pacify him that the laegel was well.

“You cannot enter,” Kalin told Estel, standing in front of the door, and fully willing, it appeared, to take whatever means necessary to prevent the Ranger’s entrance.

“Let me see him,” the Ranger ordered, stepping forward to challenge the sentry. Kalin stumbled back, knocking into the door behind him, at the kingly and violent tone of the human’s voice.

Kalin's surprise, however, did not sway his resolve. “I cannot let you in,” Kalin told the Ranger more firmly, fisting his hand tepidly in the front of the human’s tunic when he tried to force his way past the sentry anyway. Aragorn glared at the indomitable Wood-Elf and did not budge from where he stood toe to toe with the sentry.

Yanking the back of Estel’s shirt, Elladan warned him, “Enough, brother, lest you wish to spend the night in the dungeons, or with Glorfindel.” The twin was not joking and still the Ranger did not move. “Estel,” the twin said, his tone as sharp as the swift tug the Noldo gave the back of Estel’s tunic.

He felt torn – the pulling threat of Legolas’ possible injuries, sorrow, solitude, and the scar’s hold over the laegel, all caused the Ranger to want to press forwards. The push of the sentry and the staying force of his brothers kept him immobile. He was frustrated, worried, and most of all, the Ranger was afraid. He was at his breaking point already and his anger at the unhelpful twins and the reluctant sentry spilled forth in his accusation against Kalin, “You would obey Thranduil’s orders even if it killed Legolas.”

Releasing the Ranger’s shirt, Kalin hissed angrily, “Never.” The sudden loss of the sentry counterbalancing his effort to force his way into the room had Aragorn falling forward, but Elladan righted him, and the Ranger stumbled backwards, instead. He watched from where he stood in front of Elladan as Kalin exhaled loudly, mournfully, ere he slid down the door into a miserable mound before it. “Thranduil has my oath on only one order – to protect his son.” Another ragged breath escaped the sentry, rocking his body as his stoicism dissolved and his tears began anew; he whispered, “And I have failed in this.”

“What has happened, Kalin?” Elladan knelt beside the sentry to place a comforting hand on the rueful Elf’s shoulder, with Elrohir standing not far behind, fidgeting in nervous indecision. Both twins had known Kalin as long as they had known Legolas, and though the three were not as close, Elladan, Elrohir, and Kalin had shared their misery over the Prince’s torment at the hands of his father even if they had not spoken of it, and had a bond that Estel both perceived and appreciated.

Indeed, the three Elves around him had known Legolas longer than he had and were more familiar with the Prince’s pain. Aragorn, less concerned with hearing from the sentry how his lover fared and sick of everyone’s propensity towards speech rather than action, was more concerned with seeing for himself the damage the drunken King had done, and interrupted before Kalin could answer as he knelt down beside the sentry, also. “If Thranduil’s orders do not compel you, why will you not let us enter?”

Elladan frowned at his younger, human brother, but listened avidly, and then sadly, as Kalin explained, “I am following Legolas’ order. He wants no visitors.”

Estel did not bother to consider that the Wood-Elf did not want the Ranger with him; no, Aragorn was sure that Legolas would prefer his friends and lover to be with him, and he was certain that it was the Prince’s shame that had prompted his demand to Kalin. _He suffers alone._

Defeated, the Ranger sat back on his heels before allowing himself to fall ungracefully to his rear on the floor. “I am sorry, Kalin,” the human apologized. “I have not been able to protect him either,” he said.

_I have let Thranduil hurt him again._

Elrohir sat next to the quiet Ranger and tried to console his brother. “He wants to see us, but does not want us to see him, not so soon,” the Noldo told him, oblivious of how resigned and callous his consolation sounded.

“Legolas is right. After Kane has his gold and an apology, the King will be pacified.” Elladan assured all of them, his false promises of better times to come ringing hollow in the deserted hallway. “Thranduil’s anger will fade, Estel. It always does.”

Kalin held his head in his hands, disbelief and sorrow making the already fair being even paler. “If Thranduil’s anger does not fade soon, Legolas will.”

They spoke as if the human needed to understand that some things never changed, and his lover’s perpetual suffering at the hands of the only known family he had left in all of Arda was among them. The Elves were overcome, all three of them, none of them ever having been capable of helping Legolas. The clear, knowing, and sage gaze of the Elves around him finally broke the Ranger’s resolve.

 _There is nothing we can do,_ he thought, despair overwhelming him. _There is nothing I can do._

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 _You are weak,_ the scar told him. He tried to ignore it. Twisting his hands in the sheet his thoughtful sentry had draped over him, the laegel wrapped the cloth around his limbs, restricting his hands’ restless movement unconsciously within the tight encircling of the sheet so that he would not rend the scar. Instead, he listened intently to the voices outside.

Unable to hear of what his friends spoke because of the vociferous mar, Legolas concentrated on the timbre of Aragorn’s words. _He is distraught,_ the Elf thought, feeling selfish that his lover’s anguish was on his behalf.

The insidious scar, ever willing to deliver the laegel into its bog of self-hatred and self-doubt, turned Legolas’ thoughts against him, saying, _He is upset because of you. You do naught but worry him._

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to calm himself. His jagged and inadequate breaths had not become any easier to obtain and he could ill afford the air should he begin panicking again.

 _You should have died. Do you continue to live merely to spite them? Do you wish to cause them such upset?_ He could feel the misery of his friends outside and he was ashamed to be the cause of it. Their despair confirmed the scar’s judgment. He could not dispute its opinion.

 _They do not wish me dead,_ he told it, arguing with the sickening voice. _They love me._

_You should be dead. Elves do not survive rape._

_No more,_ he told the scar, releasing his hold of the sheet and untangling his hands to clutch at his thigh with both hands. _Leave me be._ His desperate entreaties went unheard. The scar continued pulsing its loathing through him with every drawn-out beat of his sullen heart.

 _You have abandoned your father and your homeland to choose a male, a human_ , _as your lover._

Digging his fingers into the healing wound, Legolas bit his lip to keep from crying aloud as his nails bit into his skin. He pried at the closed flesh, trying to dig in deeper, to spill out the deluge of vile essence that tormented him. He expected black to pour forth from the wound but it was only his blood that it wept. The voice was him; as Elrond had told Legolas, he knew the detesting castigation was his own, also.

 _It will never cease,_ the Prince thought, curling his fingertips into his hardened, disfigured flesh. _Always he has hated me. Always he has judged me. Why should I not also hate myself?_

_If you will fuck two foolish mortals, why would you not welcome one more? When first did you spread your legs for the Ranger? How long have you been hiding this disgusting habit?_

Legolas found that tearing his flesh was not enough. _The pain is never enough,_ he thought, rubbing his aching throat with his bloodied fingers and thus smearing the fluid across the contused skin. _The pain has never been enough._ Despite this, the Wood-Elf tried again, sinking his fingers into his torn flesh, feeling for the malignancy that agreed with his father’s estimation of him. The scar kept on. It remembered for him each insult or disparaging word spoken to him and echoed every doubting fear he held.

_You should have died. It is not too late, whore._

When he could bear the taunts no more, the laegel began yet another unheard appeal to the scar. _I am sorry,_ he told it, surrendering to the scar’s authority. _I am sorry, Estel,_ he added, letting his mind drift in the flux of the censure of his marred flesh.

He had nothing left with which to fight the intolerable manipulation. Never would there be enough pain to extirpate the poisonous self-hatred within him; never could he find the balm to heal the tear, not the physical scar nor the spiritual cleft; never again, Legolas knew, could he escape his father’s hatred, for it flowed through him, carried on the vile undercurrents of his own loathing in the detesting stream of the scar’s consciousness. He waited, lying in the bed long after the moon had fallen and the sun risen on another day, no longer caring what occurred, if only he could pay his dues, be forgiven, and be able to forget.


	41. Chapter 41

A crack in the rock, no wider than the breadth of one of his fingers, ran up the carved stone of the hallway’s wall and under a tapestry; the tapestry depicted Mirkwood when it was still called Greenwood the Great, ere it was tainted with darkness spreading from Dol Guldur. Aragorn had memorized the cracked wall, the tapestry, and the now clean but still disgruntled Elf sitting on the floor in front of both crack and tapestry. _I do not know why he is angered with me,_ the healer complained, looking away from the commander’s caustic glare. He leant back against the wall, drawing his knees up so that he could fold his arms across them. Laying his head on his arms, the Ranger fought against the slumber that closed his eyes, his sporadic coughing helping his battle to stay awake with the increasing ache in his throat and chest, as unpleasant as the ache was.

He was not sure when Glorfindel had arrived outside the Prince’s door. In fact, the Ranger was not even sure when Elladan had left for the healers’ apothecary to obtain the herbs he now ground in a mortar, herbs that the Noldo had obtained to soothe Estel’s coughing. _I hope that Legolas has rested._ Aragorn wrenched his eyes open again and lifted his weary head, which felt too heavy on his neck and did not obey him readily.

They sat in a loose circle outside Legolas’ bedchamber, with Kalin sitting stock-still against the door, Glorfindel sitting at the sentry’s left, and the twins sitting across from the sentry. Aragorn, sitting across from Glorfindel, watched Elladan and Elrohir fuss over the medicine they would soon force him to take, until Glorfindel’s angry stare caused him to look away and back down to the carpet under his feet.

“Do not doze off again, Estel. You are drinking this whether you are awake or not,” Elrohir threatened, adding water to a tin cup.

Holding the cup by its long handle over the flame of a candle he had taken from the library, Elrohir warmed the water while Elladan dumped in the ingredients. Swirling the foul concoction around in its container for several minutes, Elladan handed the steeped liquid to the human, who downed the mixture without complaint, though the bitter and concurrently sweet medicine made his stomach turn. His acquiescence earned him two pleased, cheerless smiles from the twins; he returned their smile only briefly. He could find little to smile about today.

Estel had been dozing most of the night. Though he had tried to remain awake, Aragorn’s sick-muddled mind and emotionally drained body had not cooperated with the Ranger, and he had caught himself nodding off as they waited. For what they waited, none of the Elves or the Ranger could guess; the arrival of Kane loomed in the distance and was the only foreseeable event occurring anytime soon in which the Ranger could hope to see his lover. The sun had risen many hours ago, the light from the air vents overhead lit the spacious hallway, and the occasional draft from the open library door would blow past them; the Ranger, twins, and commander could not seem to leave the area, despite their helplessness in aiding the laegel within the bedroom around which they waited. Perhaps they could have gone to their own rooms for rest, but none wanted to be absent should Legolas need them.

Aragorn fiddled idly with the loop where his dagger would normally be secured within his boot; however, it was not there now, and the Ranger thought it all the better. He may not be capable of helping Legolas with his relationship with his father, but the Ranger had already pledged how he would aid the laegel in regards to Kane. _The merchant will be lucky to last the eve,_ the healer vowed, his gaze returning to Glorfindel’s pervasive, mordant frown before he closed his eyes again, laying his head back on his arms.

Kalin stood abruptly, drawing the Ranger’s attention from the periphery of slumber. When Glorfindel and the twins stood also, Estel used the wall behind him for support so that he could stand. Elladan and Elrohir’s medicine was magnifying the human’s tiredness, and he found himself wobbling and his joints cracking in discomfort as he finally managed to rise. The others looked expectantly down the hall and the Ranger waited patiently to hear whatever had incited the Elves around him to stand. Finally, the human heard the clanging of dishes, caused by the juggling attempt of the Elf walking down the hall who was burdened with five heavy plates of food on a tray.

Rushing forward to help the King’s sentry, the twins lightened the sentry of two plates each, while Elladan exclaimed, “Ninan! You’ve enough food to feed a horde of Hobbits!”

A somber Ninan replied, “King Thranduil assumed you would be hungry.”

 _Then he knows we are waiting outside Legolas’ door._ Accepting a plate from Elrohir, the Ranger stared at the tempting fruit and bread. _It is long past the noon meal,_ the Ranger thought, thinking of Legolas; _He did not eat last night, or this morning. I wonder how long it has been since he has eaten._ Knowing the Wood-Elf, Legolas had likely not bothered to eat during their pressing journey to Mirkwood and Aragorn had not been awake to see that he did. Sighing, the reluctant Aragorn sat down, but nearly tipped the plate onto the floor when his vision swam with the effects of the twins’ brew.

Glorfindel took the plate that Elladan gave him. “Give the King our thanks, Ninan,” he said, nodding to the twin in gratitude, too, for passing him his share.

“I will let Kalin give you his thanks,” the King’s sentry told them, adding to Kalin, “The King wishes to speak with you. The merchant from Lake-town has arrived.”

As delicious as it was, the buttered bread the Ranger was consuming became suddenly stale at hearing the news. “Where is he?” the human asked, ignoring Glorfindel’s pointed look; he was growing rather accustomed to the commander’s scornful glares. Not even the commander would be able to keep him from Kane.

“In counsel with the King,” Ninan told him, balancing the final plate of food as he grabbed for the Prince’s doorknob.

Each had his own plate, except for Ninan and Kalin, and so the Ranger drew the obvious conclusion – the King intended the last dish for Legolas. Aragorn pitched his plate to the floor, his heart thumping as he tried to stand quickly, but not because of the sentry’s words. No, Ninan was entering Legolas’ bedroom, and the Ranger thought with relief and anticipation, _Thranduil has lifted his ban of visitors._

“The merchant has brought plenty of wine with him…,” the King’s sentry grumbled, turning the knob only slightly before Kalin interrupted him.

Asking the question that Estel did not dare to ask, lest the King’s sentry cease entering the Prince’s room, Kalin implored, “The King is allowing Legolas visitors?”

 _Damn it, Kalin,_ the Ranger groused, willing Ninan to open the door.

The King’s sentry paused, however, to grimace at the closed door. “King Thranduil still wishes the Prince to have no visitors,” he explained, looking sheepishly down to the food he held, “but I thought Prince Legolas would be hungry. I had only intended to place it inside the door,” the captain told them.

It was clear that Ninan thought Kalin would argue with him about disobeying the King’s direct orders. His fear was assuaged when the Prince’s guard said, “I am sure Legolas will appreciate your consideration, though I doubt he is able to eat.”

The King’s sentry paused, his hand still on the doorknob. His brow furrowed, Ninan stiffened with the realization of Kalin's implication, and asked, “The Prince is unwell?”

Kalin had not told them how the King had harmed Legolas, and though Elladan had inquired what had occurred the night before, Aragorn’s eagerness to see Legolas and his accusations against the sentry had preempted Kalin’s answer. The Ranger had assumed that the Prince was in no worse shape than after his first meeting with his father upon returning to Mirkwood, as horrid shape as that had been. Now, however, he felt the mixture his brothers had given him to drink roiling in his stomach at the possibility that Legolas could have been seriously injured the whole night, alone and without help in his bedroom.

Kalin steadied the plate Ninan held before the bread rolled off, not meeting anyone’s increasingly worried gaze. None, it seemed, had assumed the worst for Legolas, and had attributed his unwillingness to see them as pride, rather than as an indication of a serious condition. The sentry explained grudgingly, ashamed to admit his King’s accountability in harming his son, “I do not know what he used, but King Thranduil struck and choked Legolas, although the poker from the fireplace seems likely, as it was in the floor and bloodied. Legolas' throat was swollen and he was having difficulty speaking last night.”

“Kalin! Why did you not tell us this?”

Elladan’s affronted question caused the Prince’s guard to shift uneasily, but he answered nonetheless, assuring, “I have listened to his breathing all through the night, Lord Elladan. If he were in any danger I would have…” the Wood-Elf began, but stopped, discomfited as he thought better of his words, since he had not, by his own account, been capable of keeping the Prince from danger the night before. “It would have made no difference. It does not change the Prince’s orders,” the sentry told them firmly before he excused himself with haste, “I must go see King Thranduil.” Bowing briefly to the Imladrian Lords, the sentry walked away, leaving Ninan there to guard the Prince’s door.

 _Legolas has suffered alone all through the night._ Aragorn clenched his fists in frustration, managing not to barge past the Wood-Elf and into his lover’s room only because Elrohir had come to stand behind him, seizing one of the human’s clenched hands.

“Come, brother. Eat and rest. You will need your strength,” the twin said, tugging the Ranger gently back to where his plate of forgotten food had spilled across the carpet and stone. Adding much more quietly, though obviously not so quietly that the keen-eared Elves around them could not hear, Elrohir whispered, “Greenleaf will need your strength.”

 _If Legolas is not eating, neither will I,_ he decided, shaking his head at his Elven brother’s attempt to hand him the fruit he had salvaged from the floor. _But Elrohir is right. I will need my strength, if not for Legolas, then to torture Kane before I kill him._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas swept the blanket from off him, swinging his uninjured leg from off the bed before pulling his wounded leg charily off, also. He had heard the Ranger and sentries’ discussion outside his door. _Ada will send for me soon. Soon this will be over,_ he thought, grabbing the throbbing muscles of his thigh as he tried to coax his wounded leg into working properly. The door opened, but just barely, and a plate of bread and fruit was placed on the floor beside the doorjamb. No one entered and no greeting was given. Legolas smiled indifferently at the plate, truly appreciating the thoughtfulness but not hungry in the least.

His throat, while sore, no longer starved his lungs for air, and his back, though it ached from his father’s assault, did not pain him as much as the wicked scar. Although the mar’s voice had quieted, its presence had not abated, and it surged through him, content to wreak whatever damage it may with its loathing and disgust. He felt it but did not care to fight it. It was easier this way, for his acceptance of the scar’s hatred had at least stopped the foul and hurtful reproach with which it buffeted him. Again, he found it easier not to feel anything.

He removed his boots and disrobed. The Prince tossed his shirt onto the pile of clothing that he and the Ranger had left the morning before, noticing then that the basket in which usually laid the clean towels for his bathing room sat beside the pile. It was filled with sopping wet towels instead of clean, dry ones. Frowning in confusion, the Prince unlaced his trousers while walking into the bathing room, thinking absentmindedly, _Someone has used all the towels._

Fibers from the cloth of his leggings had become stuck in the gouge his fingers had made in the disfigurement on his thigh, and he pulled them free without thinking, wiping the bloodied threads from his fingers and onto his ruined leggings before throwing the whole mess onto the pile of towels and dirty clothing, as well.

For a moment, the laegel merely glanced around the bathing room, realizing that something was amiss but not able to discern what it could be – at least, not immediately. _What happened to the vase?_ Mildly curious as to the antique vase’s disappearance, the Prince limped around the bathing room, certain that the jar had been sitting against the wall the day before. Otherwise, the room was just as he had left it, and even the water from his and the Ranger’s morning bath still filled the tub. _It is no matter. This is likely the twins doing,_ he decided of the vase and towels with a smile, bending with stiff and painful movements to reach the chain attached to the tub’s side.

Pulling the chain, the Prince tugged free the plug from the bath and watched the water, which was milky from the soap they had used the day before, drain slowly from the deep pool. Hopping into the tub when it was emptied and releasing the faucet above, he did not replace the plug, but merely stood under the rain of cold water, the temperature of which did not bother him. In fact, he desired the water to be frigid in the hopes that the temperature would soothe the inflamed flesh of his swollen throat and rent thigh. With perfunctory and uninterested motions did he bathe, scrubbing clean his skin without feeling it. He had lost any sensation but the torpidity of his muscles and the incessant throb of his wounds. The pain, however, did not seem to lessen the scar’s malevolence any longer, and despite it, the anaesthesia of his body and the numbness of his thinking were not relieved.

When finished, the Elf went into his bedroom, listening to the soft sounds of his friends outside eating, and dried himself with a clean tunic from the armoire. Legolas searched through the cabinet for a robe he had not worn in ages. Said robe, given to him by his father, was garish and haughty to the Elf, but to Thranduil, the robe had been a fine gift, one fit for a Prince. More importantly, however, was the high collar of the inky blue robe’s thick material, with which he planned to hide the purple and black bruise across his throat. Sliding the sleeves over his arms while trying not to stretch his battered back too far, he fastened the ties of the robe around him, swallowed by its wide, soft folds of fabric.

His mother’s looking glass hanging upon the inside door of the armoire reflected an Elf that the Prince was sure he had not seen before. After the many years he had been alive, Legolas had not paid much mind to his appearance, for it had changed little as he aged. Now, though, the Wood-Elf noted the dark circles under his eyes and the gaunt and thinned flesh of his face. Even with the high collar hiding the contusion across his throat, it was glaringly obvious that Legolas was not well. Running his fingers though his wet hair while wishing he could keep track of his hairbrushes, the laegel gasped at the sudden pain of the swollen and tender, new bump on the back of his skull from where it had impacted repeatedly with the stone floor.

 _Now you have a twin,_ he said with a derisive smile, fingering the other, fading lump on his scalp from his father’s wine bottle two nights before.

He was trying to cheer himself up but doing a horrible job of it. Legolas hobbled to his bed and threw the covers over the sheets to hide the blood staining them before he sat at the bed’s end, facing the door. That his father was currently fraternizing with Legolas' attacker, drinking wine and feasting with the human who had debased him and stolen his innocence, testified with whom the King’s allegiance laid. Unable to endure the idea of his father’s collusion with his rapist, the Prince concentrated on the numbness of his faer and rhaw, succumbing to it and thereby magnifying its welcomed respite, as it kept him from feeling the betrayal and heartache that threatened his resolve.

He was as prepared as he could possibly be. Absolution would come for him soon, he hoped, and so he waited, watching the bands of golden sunlight shining from the windows become longer as they stretched across the carpeted floor. The day passed slowly, and it was nearly nightfall when someone knocked upon his door.

_It is time._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Hurry…open the door,_ the Ranger fumed, for he was impatient to see the Wood-Elf. He had been waiting for this moment with both anticipation and dread the whole day, for though the zenith of recent events would occur tonight, how it would culminate was yet to be decided. _Open the door._

Kalin had not told them of what the King had wanted from him during his time away but it was clear what Thranduil wanted now – Legolas. An eternity seemed to pass before the sentry received an answer from within to his knocking, and on the soft call of his Prince to enter, Kalin found himself pushed forward and into the room nearly before he had the door fully opened. Aragorn kept pressing onward until Kalin was removed from his way. The sentry did not fall, though he staggered ungracefully into Legolas’ bedroom and took a moment to give the Ranger a reprehensive glare, who did not bother to notice, but quickened past the Wood-Elf to reach Legolas.

Legolas was sitting on the bed, dressed in a fine robe, his hair braided in perfect plaits, and his face pale but otherwise emotionless. The laegel smiled at his lover. “Estel,” was all Legolas said, though the welcoming smile lighting his battered visage told the Ranger all he needed to know.

_He is benumbed._

“Greenleaf,” the Ranger sighed, dropping to his knees before where the Wood-Elf sat. Wrapping his arms around the laegel’s waist, the human leant forward, laid his head on the Elf’s lap, and held Legolas tightly in his embrace. The Silvan tensed under him, causing the Ranger to lift his head at the sudden realization that he had placed his head on the Prince's scarred thigh.

_It bothers him now. I hope he has not rent it again._

“Are you well?” Elrohir and Elladan had followed the sentry and Ranger into the room, and the former asked of the Prince’s welfare while the latter sat beside the Wood-Elf on the bed, his hands immediately reaching for the high collar of Legolas’ robes.

“I am fine,” the laegel prevaricated, prying the twin’s hands away from him as he struggled to keep Elladan from unclasping the collar. Legolas stood, causing the Ranger to release him.

Recoiling from the twins’ renewed effort to check his neck, the laegel backed away from the Noldor. The unbidden memory of the Prince fleeing his touch in the archery field came to the Ranger as he stood. _He is as staid as he was then._ What had occurred shortly after this incident, when Legolas had been accosted by Mithfindl, also came to the Ranger’s mind, and he worried, _He is in no condition to meet with Thranduil. I would that he had not been alone all night. His solitude has caused this disconnection to resurface._

Not willing to be dissuaded, Elrohir argued for his brother, “Let us see. Are you having difficulty breathing still?”

The Prince shook his head, backed up another step as the twin stepped forward, and repeated himself, “I am fine. It is nothing more than a few bruises. Everything will be fine,” he assured them, though he did not appear as if he believed his own fabrication.

“It will be, I am certain, Legolas, because we are going with you to this meeting,” Estel vowed.

_He is not well. He is not well at all. The scar holds him enthralled with its lies._

Shaking his head, the Wood-Elf began, “No, Estel. I do not want you to –”

As he stood from the floor, the Adan argued straightaway, “I am coming with you.”

_I am not leaving you alone again, not with your lunatic father or the vile merchant, and not while you are under the scar’s influence._

“We do not have time for this argument,” Kalin warned, looking fretfully through the open doorway, past Ninan and Glorfindel, both of whom stood just inside the room. “I am to take you to the King. He waits.”

The laegel smiled at his friends and sentries, resignation the only discernible emotion on his face. “Then let us go to him.”

Aragorn looped his arm through the laegel’s, but the Elf began to tremble at the touch and soon extricated his limb from the Ranger’s grasp with a plaintive smile, and then increased his pace to walk ahead of the human. The plate of food Ninan had brought Legolas lay untouched at the doorway, and Estel stepped over it to walk behind his lover from the room. _I will see that he eats afterward._ He planned to see to many things after the council was ended, the least of which was Kane.

They walked down the staircase in silence, although the Ranger’s thoughts were anything but. _This is it,_ he thought, feeling the same trepidation he saw in the twins’ shared countenance of worry for the upcoming events. _I have not seen him this withdrawn,_ the Ranger decided, grimacing with each of the laegel’s limped, hobbled steps down the stairs, _or this resigned. Not since Mithfindl,_ he noted, and then forced these thoughts from his mind. _Kane will only want an apology and money,_ he reminded himself. _He is not Mithfindl. Legolas would not let such a thing happen again. Thranduil would not let such a thing happen._

When they had walked through the throne room, arriving at the entrance to the King’s personal wing in the vast palace, Glorfindel offered, “We will come with you, Legolas, if you desire us to.”

“None can enter,” the guard warned them quietly upon overhearing the commander’s offer, and then added, “by the King’s orders.” The guard shrugged his shoulders in apology to the golden commander and disappointed Noldor.

Aragorn grabbed Legolas’ arm, not about to let the Wood-Elf attend this meeting with the merchant and his father without him. “Ask Thranduil for us, Kalin.”

The quiet Wood-Elf and reserved sentry looked to each other, and though no words were said, the Ranger could tell that Legolas did not wish them to accompany him to his father’s study. _Sweet Eru. Please do not try to do this alone._

Sighing, the sentry nodded, acquiescing, “I will ask, Estel.”

The door to the King’s study opened, and Thranduil stood in front it, his arms crossed over his chest, though in one hand he held a bottle of wine. He did not bother to address the Elves staring expectantly down the hall at him but twirled his bottle of wine impatiently in hand, as Kalin and Legolas made their way to him. Aragorn watched them go, feeling as if he were trapped. Thranduil’s insouciant performance for them rattled the bars on the Ranger’s cage. _Ask him, Kalin. Please._

“King Thranduil. I have brought the Prince,” Kalin hailed by way of announcement of their presence, bowing low to the sovereign as he led the Prince to the King’s study. The sentry’s hopeful voice carried down the hallway, “Will you need me further?”

It only increased Aragorn’s fretfulness to realize, _Kalin does not want Legolas to be alone in there, either._

Sparing the sentry a brief smile, the Elf-King told him, “Thank you, Kalin, but no. You are dismissed.”

The sentry hesitated but kept his promise. “Your Majesty, Lords Elrohir, Elladan, Glorfindel, and the Ranger would like to attend your council with the merchant,” Kalin blurted, his face flushing at his boldness.

The group of Elves and Aragorn watched the sentry squirm under Thranduil’s annoyed glower, his answer obvious before he spoke. “Tell Elrond’s sons and servants that they are not needed,” he hissed, seizing the Prince by his wrist and hauling the younger Elf with him as he threw open the door to his study, dragging Legolas with him. Aragorn could only watch them go, as any attempt to reach the Prince would be blocked by several sentries, the twins, and the Imladrian commander. He was left behind once more to await his lover’s return.

 _I fail him,_ the Ranger derided himself, feeling hopeless yet again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Had he felt anything, the Wood-Elf would have mourned hurting the Ranger’s feelings by eschewing Estel’s devoted touch, but the Prince needed the numbness. It was his only defense against the two beings before him.

Legolas could not find his voice. The merchant reclined on a couch, fully at ease in the King’s presence, while Thranduil moved to sit on the couch beside the merchant’s, his bottle in hand. The sight of his father and rapist sitting together, sharing wine, drove the air from the laegel’s lungs, and he dropped to his knee, bowing low to the King to hide his inability to breathe. As usual, the Wood-Elf knew he would end up in the floor before the meeting was over, if the King’s soused and angered state was any indication. That his throat still pained him, although it was neither as swollen or as constricted as before, did not facilitate his breathing, and caused Legolas to bow without offering greetings to either the merchant or his father, while hoping they would not notice.

“Legolas,” the King prompted, inciting the Wood-Elf to raise his head when his father spoke to him, to meet his father’s gaze as taught. He would give his King no more reason to be angered with him. “This is Kane, the merchant whose men you and the Ranger killed. He is a wealthy and well-respected wine dealer, my son.”

Knowing he was expected to acknowledge the merchant, Legolas willed himself to look upon the face of the human who had haunted his dreams, who had stolen from him not only his innocence, but now also his sanity. Drawing his shoulders up and trying his best to appear unaffected by the merchant’s presence, Legolas nodded to the white-haired human, meeting Kane’s gaze with as much indifference as he could muster. He would not let the merchant see his despair and humiliation – he wanted none to know his weakness.

The King went on, saying, “Master Human, this is the crown Prince of the Greenwood, Legolas Thranduilion.”

The merchant’s eyes had grown large, his mouth hung agape, though it moved as if to form some expression of the surprise the human must have felt to realize that the King’s son, the one whom he would be seeking reparations from, was the same Wood-Elf he had accosted in his store. For a moment, the Prince could have laughed in delight to see the mercenary’s surprise turn to fear. _He did not know it was me,_ the laegel realized. _Perhaps his fetid employees lied and told them they had managed to kill me in the forest._ However, Legolas could maintain no delight in the man’s fear, for though the merchant had not known he had assaulted the Prince of Mirkwood in his storeroom in Lake-town, it did not change the fact that Legolas stood before the human now, ordered by the King to make reparations for his part in killing Sven and Cort.

“Legolas,” his father barked, “will you disgrace me further by not greeting my guest?”

Immediately, the Prince apologized, “I am sorry.” Forcing himself to look at the human again, Legolas bowed slightly to the merchant, seeing the anxious expression the man held. “Mae govannen, Master Human.”

Kane merely nodded in response, sipping his wine in absent shock betwixt furtive looks he spared between the King and his son. It was clear that the merchant believed himself in trouble, for he paled further with each passing moment. _He believes me to have told father of our first meeting, or that I will soon tell him._ Legolas would do no such thing. His father needed no more tinder with which to foment his already smoldering repugnance for the Prince.

“I have been speaking with Kane this afternoon,” the King told Legolas, then turned to the merchant, smiling jovially as he held his bottle aloft. “His wine is by far the best I have had from the human settlements.”

“It’s the best I own,” Kane replied, unable to tear his attention away from the Prince. “Thought you would enjoy it, your Majesty.”

“I have, Master Human. I have. And I will enjoy much more, now that our differences are settled,” he claimed. “It was not Legolas, but a Ranger who killed your men,” the King told the merchant, swishing the wine in his bottle, mesmerized, it seemed, by the blood colored liquid. He frowned at the wine bottle and then turned his frown to the merchant. “I would give you the Ranger but he is not my subject, and not bound by my laws. My son will take his punishment, instead.”

“A Ranger?” Shaken from his fearful stupor, the merchant rubbed his hand through his white hair, or what was left of it, as he asked, “Why would a Ranger have killed Sven and Cort?” Realizing that his questions might arouse answers that could lead to revealing his responsibility in the Prince’s first assault, Kane tried to rescind his question, saying, “I mean, a Ranger had little business being in Mirkwood without your leave, your Majesty.”

“He had my leave, good merchant, though he will have it no longer. Legolas is the Ranger’s whore,” Thranduil explained, sneering at his son, who remained emotionless at the slur. The King struggled to rise from the cushioned couch on which he sat, adding, “The Ranger was probably jealous to find my son bedding your fellow merchants.”

Kane, the quiet Wood-Elf noticed, was now no longer only afraid, but also puzzled to witness the King’s contempt for his son. “Bedding him? Cort and Sven?” The man’s fear became utter panic as the merchant thought aloud, perhaps from thinking the King to know of his son’s assault in Lake-town, and thus fearing this whole meeting was merely a fictive trap.

 _Let this end soon,_ the Prince hoped, but it did not, for the King continued his rant, railing at the younger Elf as he laughed spitefully, “Apparently my son needs little reason to lay with strangers, even those he happens upon in the woods. Legolas enjoys fucking mortals; do you not, my son?” Believing the question needed no answer, the Prince said nothing, for he was observing Kane relax at the mention of where the incident in question had occurred, but his father advanced on him, screaming, “Legolas.”

It began with the scar, pulsing with each beat of his heart and spreading through his limbs as if carried by the blood rushing through him, making its home within his bones and flesh to combat the grief of his Ada’s betrayal, of his being forced to face his rapist with kind words and apologies, and coming before his grief could suffocate him within its depths. It was numbness, untainted and engaging. He could feel nothing, and it comforted him as its hold over him increased. Accepting this false comfort with appreciation, the laegel replied, knowing it would anger his father, as any answer he could give the King would do, “Only Estel, Ada.”

“Only Estel,” Thranduil repeated flatly. Without warning, the King struck Legolas across the face with the wine bottle, sending the Wood-Elf to the floor with the violent blow against the side of his head. Luckily the bottle did not break, though Legolas feared from the loud crack that his cheekbone might have. “He should have died,” the King told the merchant, though he did not look away from the impassive Prince lying on the floor before him. Still addressing the merchant, Legolas’ father asked the man nonchalantly, “Legolas claims your friends raped him. Did you know that Elves usually die when taken against their will? Dims the light of the Elven soul until it fades altogether.”

_You should have died, Elfling. They had no more use for you, and you should have died._

The scar resurged through him, his acceptance of its opinion from the night before not enough to keep it silent in the bitter blame from his father, and though he longed to tear at the demeaning scar, the Wood-Elf refrained. He was unwilling to show such impuissance before his hateful father and the merchant, and the pain no longer arrested the odium and shame coursing through him, anyhow.

Kane’s panic had become hesitant daring at the King’s display of violence towards the Prince. “Rape? Sven and Cort wouldn’t have done such a thing,” the merchant lied, sitting upright in faked indignation at the suggestion.

_Your father does not believe you. He tells your rapist that you enjoyed your subjugation._

“I would have to agree, Master Human, for my son is not dead.” Thranduil stood over the Prince, ordering, “Get up.”

_It is not too late for you to die._

He tried to comply with his father’s orders as quickly as possible but could not move promptly enough for the King, who bent over, seizing the laegel by his collar to haul him to his feet.

_You are pitiable._

The cloth around his neck tightened, cutting off his already lacking ability to breathe; however, the King released Legolas, letting him fall to his knees on the floor.

“What do you ask of Legolas?” the King inquired of Kane. “He has promised me that he will meet whatever demands you ask of him.”

Smugly did the merchant smile, helping himself to another goblet of the King’s wine while he said to Thranduil, “An apology will suffice, your Majesty, along with gold coin for the cost of the goods, cart, and horses I have lost.”

Relieved that the merchant wanted nothing more than this, Legolas swayed on his knees. He had feared that the human, who now stared at him with undisguised lechery and hauteur as he spoke, would ask for something more.

Digging into his pocket, the King pulled out a purse of coins and tossed them to the merchant, who caught them easily. “You have your gold, Master Human.” When the merchant opened the purse, peering inside to gauge the amount therein, Thranduil smirked, saying, “There is more than enough to cover your losses.” Placing a hand on each of Legolas’ shoulders as he looked down at the kneeling Prince, the King ordered, “Take our guest to his room and see that he is comfortable. Make your apologies, Legolas,” the King demanded, his hands heavy on his son’s shoulders, adding to the dishonored burden that the Prince already carried there, “and do not let me hear you have done otherwise.”

 _It will be over._ He could not fight them all. Besieged by his father’s hatred and assailed by the merchant’s enjoyment of the Elvenking’s perverse show, the scar held utmost sway over the laegel, its unspoken denunciation submerging him in the disgust and shame he felt as much as its words held him under its power. “Yes, Ada.”

“Then leave. Your presence sickens me, Legolas.” Thranduil paused, the hateful scowl on his face faltering as he stared down at the Prince. The hands on Legolas' shoulders seemed to lighten, and the King brushed the back of his fingers lovingly along the young Silvan’s bruised cheek.

But Legolas did not notice, for he was too busy listening to the scar as it plagued him. _He hates you. And why should he not? Why should_ you _not? You are nothing, Legolas._

“Take our guest through the back hallway,” the King told his son in a voice gruff with anger and confusion. “I have asked Kalin to gather a guard for Kane. I do not want the Noldor pestering him.”

With Kane following behind him, Legolas shut the study door quietly, casting a furtive glance to where the King’s sentries guarded the end of the hall. Sighing in relief that the Ranger and Noldor were not waiting at the entrance to the King’s hall to see him leaving with the merchant, the laegel thought, _If Ada has commissioned a guard for the human, then at least Estel will not be able to kill him._ He feared that the Ranger or twins would react excessively to his being with the merchant, and above all else, the Prince did not wish to upset his father further. Although he had long ago given up obtaining his King’s favor, Legolas thought while listening to the heavy footsteps of the human behind him, _Kane must leave tomorrow, and in one piece, else Ada will murder me – or Estel._

Before he led the merchant away, moving through the King’s quarters and deeper into the mountain, the Prince slid a lit torch from its niche on the wall. He did not wait for the man to follow him; he did not want to think of the repulsive merchant standing only feet behind him, or of the concupiscent grin the man held, and he did not want to give the twins or Ranger time to see him with Kane. Legolas merely pushed aside a tapestry next to the King’s bedroom door, exposing the access to the hidden hallway deep within the mountain.

The concealed corridor had been constructed as a means for the King to escape should the nearly impenetrable palace be invaded. Many such obscure passages and halls existed in the palace, some of which ended abruptly, seemingly without purpose, while others circled the floors, leading to various areas of each level. Few of the Wood-Elves knew of them at all and even fewer knew all of where the halls led, though Legolas had spent many contented days as a child playing in the corridors, winning games of hide and go seek with his friends because they could not find him.

The back hallway, called such because it ran behind the palace, led to a stairwell that could be climbed to the uppermost floors, opening upon where Kalin's rooms lay and connected to Legolas' chambers, and wound through the mountainside. The hall and stairwell were rough and unfinished. They did not contain the decorations and murals of the other halls through the palace, nor were they well lit with airshafts overhead. With only torchlight to guide them, the Wood-Elf and merchant sped through the passage.

Legolas wanted to be free of the man’s presence, and so he set a quick pace up the stairs, the growing ache in his cheek, the nagging pain of his scarred thigh and its insistent, censorious derogation only spurring his pace, rather than slowing it, because Legolas longed to be free of them, also. _Kane will have his apology. Father will not be angry any longer and then perhaps I can find peace,_ he reassured himself as he walked. His father’s promise to fix Legolas’ love of the Ranger and of males the Prince pushed from his mind, preferring instead to attend to the task at hand. _One dilemma at a time._

They soon arrived at the landing of the floor directly above the King’s quarters, and Legolas pushed past the arras there. Laughter and joyful locution reverberated against the stone walls. His father’s sentries occupied this wing and those not on duty were playing a game of stones when the Prince and merchant strode by the sitting room in which they rested. The din of the sentries ended when the merchant and their Prince walked by and it did not restart even after they had passed the many doors leading to the Woodland warriors’ individual rooms and had reached the corridor’s end.

_They are ashamed of you, Legolas._

“Come this way,” the quiet Legolas instructed, leading the merchant through an archway and to the winding corridor that he and Estel had climbed the day before, when the Ranger had been too winded to climb the main stairs.

Thankful to have avoided Aragorn and the twins, an anxious Legolas led the man up the passage and to the guest bedrooms nearby, where two sentinels were standing. _I take it this is his room,_ Legolas thought mordantly, seeing that the King had placed the human guest in the finest room available. The guards outside the door nodded to the Prince without looking at him and then opened the portal for Legolas and the merchant when they approached.

_All know of your disgrace._

The Elf gestured the human to walk before him into the room, ere he went in himself. _I will make my apologies and then leave._

Kane walked in a slow arc to inspect the fine guest room he had been given, before he finally came full circle to stand before the Prince once again. Smug, the merchant’s ruddy, inebriated smile fell from his face abruptly to be replaced with something much more sinister. The merchant licked his lips, his eyes trailing up the laegel’s body. “It’s quite unfair, you realize,” Kane grumbled without preface, his gaze resting on the Wood-Elf’s mouth, “that Sven and Cort got to have you twice, Elfling.”

_Twice they have used you for their pleasure._

Refusing to rise to the bait of either the scar or the merchant, Legolas bowed slightly to Kane, gripping his hands in the cloth of his robes to keep his reeling body still and his hands from their now useless torment of the scar, so that he could accomplish what his father had asked of him. “My sincere apologies for the loss of your companions,” the Prince told Kane, choking on the foul, phony apology before he continued, “I hope my actions will not cause interference with the trade between Lake-town and Mirkwood.”

Kane pulled free a flask from under his tunic and opened it slowly while he continued to stare at Legolas, appraising the Prince as if he were goods for trade. “I cannot promise such a thing,” the merchant said, stepping forward and chuckling as the Prince stepped backwards against the door.

His body stiffening, Legolas argued, “But I have given you my apologies, and the King has given you gold for your lost goods. You have promised King Thranduil that this matter was resolved.”

With a shrewd expression, the inebriated human asked, “Your father does not know of your visit to us in Lake-town, does he, little one?”

_You are soiled._

The Wood-Elf’s body flinched as if the man had struck him. Not knowing whether or not to admit to the merchant that Thranduil did not know, Legolas, eager to be free of the man’s company, threatened Kane with this knowledge, saying, “No. If he did, you would be dead.”

The merchant laughed at the Prince’s unconvincing lie and then drank deeply from his flask. “You are nothing, Elfling. A whore maybe, according to your father,” the merchant taunted, unaware of how true his taunts truly were. “Seems to me that if you told him, he’d only think you asked for it. Just like you did Sven and Cort, right? He knows what you are already.”

_Rubbish. That’s what you are, whore._

Shoving the flask back in his tunic, the merchant eyed the Wood-Elf, waiting, it seemed, for the Prince’s halcyon demeanor to crack. It did not. Legolas felt nothing. “Did you believe that a mere apology would be enough to pacify me? Did you believe that the lives of my friends would be so easily bought with coin and your artificial apologies?”

“You tortured me,” the Wood-Elf challenged quietly, rising to his full height over the merchant, though he still felt dwarfed in Kane’s presence. “Your fellow merchants deserved their deaths.”

“Torture?” The man guffawed loudly, coarsely, shambling about as his balance wavered with the shaking of his body’s callous laughter. “Did you not hear your father? You would have died had you not desired what we gave you, Elfling.”

The scar supplied, echoing the words Sven had said to him little more than a fortnight ago, _Perhaps you enjoyed our last session more than your screams belied._

He had no wish to bandy arguments with the merchant, but Legolas told the man, pressing hard against the door behind him to increase the space between him and the merchant, “I desired only pipe-weed when I entered your store, human.”

“Ah,” Kane cried glibly, stepping forward to lay a hand on Legolas’ chest, “do not take me for a fool, Elfling. I doubt you would have let Cort and Sven take you again had you not enjoyed yourself.” Despite his best efforts to hide the repulsion he felt to have the merchant so near, the Wood-Elf’s body trembled violently with the shameful memory of Kane’s touch.

 _Do not battle it. You desire him,_ the marred flesh mocked him.

“There is much more that I could ask of your father,” the human smirked as he explained, sliding his hand down the laegel’s svelte torso under the thick cloth of his robes. “And I am sure he would not mind my having it, whore.”

“Do not touch me,” the Wood-Elf warned without conviction, knocking the human’s hand away from him. “You have what you have come for. Tomorrow you will leave.”

Unperturbed at Legolas’ indignation, the merchant merely took yet another stop forward, placing himself within inches of the Prince. He peered up into the laegel’s face, grinning so widely it showed his rotting teeth, while the man’s breath wafted to the Wood-Elf. The smell of wine overwhelmed Legolas’ senses, bringing back to him the memory of the merchant’s fetid breath while he taunted him with the bottle in the storeroom, and of his father, only a few days before, and the hatred he had endured then. “Tomorrow I will leave, but before then, I require more from your pretty lips than just apologies, Elfling,” he murmured, raising his fingers to rub them across Legolas’ mouth.

_Have you no shame?_

“My apology will be all you obtain from me, human,” he warned the merchant, twisting his face away from the man’s fingers.

Kane did not relent, however, and grabbed the laegel’s robe, wrenching the Elf to him. “Will it take gold, whore? Perhaps I should find the Ranger. I am sure he would loan you to me for the night if offered the right price.”

 _You are very lucky, Ranger, to have such a beautiful Elf as a pet_ , the scar reminded him, eliciting a soft gasp from the Wood-Elf with the memory of what had happened shortly after Sven had said this, when Cort had returned to the campsite.

Stepping forward once more until there was no room between the Elf and human’s bodies, Kane ridiculed him as his father had, as the scar had, by casting doubt on the Ranger’s love for him in saying, “Did your Ranger enjoy watching Cort and Sven take you? Was he aroused by watching them use you?”

The man concurred with the scar, which agreed with Thranduil, _Mayhap he only sated the lust your subjugation sparked._

“Do not speak ill of the Ranger,” the Prince spat both to the scar and to the merchant. “You are not worthy enough to speak of him.”

“You must have enjoyed your visit to my store, Elfling, for you to choose a human as your lover. Tell me, did your foul Ranger find his pleasure with Sven and Cort, too?” Snorting in glee at the Prince's discomfort, the glib human told the laegel, "He must be as disgusting as you to lay with you after you have been so broken in. Have you tainted him with your seed, or do you spread your legs for him, instead?"

Legolas had accepted his own worthlessness, but he would not withstand the merchant’s insults to Estel, not his coarse language when describing the Ranger's love for him, nor could he bear the man's closeness. The dignified Prince could contain himself no longer. The laegel lowered his shoulder, rammed it into the merchant’s soft, round chest, and thereby pushed Kane away from him. The merchant stumbled backwards, crying aloud with surprise and pain, his arms flailing for a moment ere his balance gave way, and he fell to his ass on the floor.

 _Estel is not tainted._ Hatred reared within the laegel and he could not trust himself not to kill the human. Primitive revulsion, nothing that the Prince had ever felt for a living being other than Orc or spider, caused the Elf to rush forward, his weaponless hands seizing the air as he longed to rip out the tongue that had dared to utter such a foul statement. Only the thought of his father, of what the King’s reaction would be, halted the laegel’s homicidal objective. And so, afraid he would murder the merchant, Legolas made to flee, turning on heel and seizing the door handle.

“The King will hear of this,” the merchant whispered vindictively from his place on the floor. “His son assaulting a guest in his own home.” Laughing, the man rubbed his aching belly, rocking his massive body forward on the carpet to gain the momentum to rise to his knees. “What will your father say to this?"

_What does King Thranduil say about you whoring yourself to humans?_

The Wood-Elf released the doorknob, dropping his hand back to his side, his anger at the man’s inveighing Estel’s character falling from him as quickly as his pride. _I cannot battle them both. I cannot bear the scar and Kane, not under the threat of father's hatred for me._ He turned around slowly, faced his rapist, and bluffed halfheartedly, “My father would kill you for touching me.”

The merchant rose unsteadily to his feet, saying, “Your father has ordered you to give me whatever I ask of you.” Brushing imaginary dust off his trousers, Kane added, “’Do not let me hear otherwise,’ your father said.”

 _Ada will never believe you should you tell him._ Standing upright, the shorter man seemed to tower over the Prince when he again walked closer, assured that the broken Elf before him would not disobey his father’s edict. _He did not even believe you were raped._

“Your father believes you to be a whore.”

_You are ours, Elfling. Nothing more than a toy for us to please ourselves with._

Kane stopped short of touching the Elf again, although he stood as he had before Legolas pushed him to the floor. “He told me much during our meeting, Legolas, didn’t he? Of how pathetic you are, how you allowed Sven and Cort to take you while the Ranger watched. If I had known you enjoyed our time together so much, we would not have let you leave.”

_You are no Prince._

Laughing as he pulled his flask from his tunic again, the merchant tipped it back, letting the red liquid spill over his chin and down the front of his tunic as he gulped the wine noisily.

_You are nothing._

Kane licked his lips and brushed his hand over his dripping chin, and then offered the flask to the Wood-Elf, “Care for a drink?”

“No.” Pressing his back against the door behind him, the Wood-Elf despaired, _If he tells Ada I have assaulted him, Ada will kill me._ He did not feel that he was being pessimistic about his father’s reaction. _I cannot let Ada hear of this. I cannot make him angrier. I want this to end._ "What do you want from me?”

The man grinned, reaching his fingers out to stroke across the laegel’s lips. “Are you still as tight as you were before, Elfling? Or did Sven and Cort ruin you?”

 _You are nothing, Legolas. Nothing but the humans’ whore. You deserve this._ Legolas let the numbness take him, welcoming the insensibility, willing it to increase when Kane began to caress his bruised face. _If you will fuck two foolish mortals, why would you not welcome one more?_ Forcing his mind to wander in nothingness, the Wood-Elf did as he as he had done in the storeroom in Lake-town, with the merchants in the woods, and with Mithfindl. _Let him use you. It is of no consequence to anyone, for all know you as a whore. You are naught._ He would be nothing, if that were what they wanted from him. _What do you believe your friend will think of you, my sweet slut, when he sees you wantonly submitting to me?_ He would do as the man asked of him, in order to pacify the scar – in order to obtain his forgiveness.

 _I am sorry, Estel._ Closing his eyes, the Elf’s shoulders slumped in acceptance.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I grow tired of waiting.”

Elrohir sat back in his seat, closing his eyes and leaning his head fully against the cushion behind him. “He will be fine... stop worrying. Legolas has faced more terrible situations than this. He is a warrior, Estel, not a child.”

Elladan scooted to the middle of the couch, beside Elrohir, to give Glorfindel room to sit as well. They waited in the near a fireplace in the throne room for any word, or any sign at all, of what occurred in Thranduil’s study. Kalin had left them to see to his duties, the guards stood quiet and motionless across the way, and the twins, Ranger, and commander were the only beings in the hall. Elladan twisted his arm through Elrohir’s and closed his eyes, also, while laying his head on his twin’s shoulder. “There is nothing that we can do.” The twins were both exhausted, as was Glorfindel, who had not yet slept after his hectic ride to Mirkwood. The Ranger, however, was not tired, for fear had eradicated any traces of fatigue in him.

“No foe has ever held such influence over him,” the Ranger countered, pacing before the violent fire, its intermittent, brilliant ginger coruscation of dying embers and the crackling of shifting logs the backdrop to his inflamed thoughts. The Ranger could not sit still – he could rely on words no longer. “We must do something.”

“We wait, Estel,” the commander said, propping an elbow on the couch’s armrest, and then his head on his fisted hand, in a position evincing his own weariness. “We must trust Legolas to see to his own affairs.”

If the golden Elf had meant for his words to be encouraging, he had missed the mark dreadfully. If Aragorn could not rally their support, he would help Legolas without them. Standing before the fireplace, the chilled Ranger let his skin absorb the warmth of the flames. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling suddenly very alone in his effort to see that his lover was well. _They truly do not understand. They do not realize what hold the scar has of him._ However, he waited, for there was nothing else for him to do except wait... and worry.


	42. Chapter 42

Kane could not stop smiling. His flushed, chubby, and drunk visage was plastered with a goofy grin. It was obvious that the human was enjoying the Prince’s submission, though he could not ever have understood why Legolas stood there, allowing the human to touch him as he did. _You are soiled._ Perhaps he thought as the King did, or as the Prince was coming to believe – Legolas desired the ablutionary pain the man might give him. _Rubbish._ The laegel refused to look at the merchant, but kept his gaze fixed across the room, staring intensely at that which didn’t exist. _You deserve this._ If he felt the man’s hands rubbing his chest through the robes he wore, he did not show it. The unremitting litany of insults the scar bombarded him with only served to drive the Elf further within himself, and away from what was happening to him. _You are pathetic._

“Shouldn’t have let you leave,” the man repeated, pushing the Elf hard against the door behind him.

For a brief moment, the Prince considered calling for the guards, thinking, _Father could not deny that the man attacked me if the sentries saw Kane doing it,_ but the scar told him, _Kane has done nothing to you. You have let him touch you and you will let him use you._ He could escape the scar’s logic no more than he could escape his father’s reasoning. The scar, so separate from him now, so like another entity that inhabited his thinking, overwhelmed his own abulic will until only its volition remained. The Wood-Elf was terribly tired; he wanted nothing more than for the man to leave on the morrow without complaint, his father to forgive him, and the scar to be silenced evermore. _You are no Prince._ _They will not believe you._

He did not call out to the sentries.

“You are beautiful, Elf.” The compliment was meaningless to Legolas, who could not feel the man’s hands sliding between the folds of his robes, pulling the fine fabric apart to expose the Wood-Elf’s chest. “What happened here, Elfling?”

Kane traced his fingers over the Elf’s now exposed throat, his fingernails scraping across the laegel’s bruised and swollen flesh. _Elves do not survive such abuse._ Placing his forearm across the Wood-Elf’s already bruised and swollen throat, the merchant pressed down lightly, ending Legolas’ ability to breathe. _You should be dead._

Playfully, spitefully, the merchant asked, “Did your Ranger do this? Do you enjoy rough bedtime games?”

The human kept smiling as he released the slavish Wood-Elf, gripped the cloth over the Elf’s wasted shoulders to pull his robe over them, down the Prince’s lax arms, and then let the soft cloth fall to a puddle around their feet. _You deserve this._ Legolas stood only in his trousers, with his chest bared to the merchant’s judging eyes. Kane trailed his hands over the once muscled Elf’s now thinned torso, his fingernails tracing the bruises he found there. Fondling the Wood-Elf’s body, the merchant’s own breathing became heavy, his eyes following his hands as he molested the Prince’s torpid form. Leaning forward, the merchant’s hot, wine laden breath brushed along Legolas’ throat, the smell sickening to the Prince, though he remained motionless, allowing the human to lave his tongue across the flesh of his chest.

“You taste as beautiful as you look,” the enamored man murmured, stepping back to gauge the Prince’s response; Legolas gave him none, and so the merchant laughed while hooking his fingers into Legolas’ waistband to draw the Elf with him across the room.

“Come here, Elf, and make your apologies,” the merchant taunted.

_You are nothing._

He paused at the bed, and then pushed the Elf into sitting on it. “Show me how sorry you are.” Promptly, Kane slipped his erection free from his leggings, his hands shaking with the intensity of his desire to achieve satisfaction from the complacent laegel’s mouth.

 _Just finish this,_ the Prince told himself, reaching for Kane’s arousal. Uncertainly wrapping his hand around the merchant’s shaft, the Silvan felt the human wrap his pudgy fingers in the hair at the back of the Wood-Elf’s head, guiding the Prince’s mouth to his waiting shaft. _I want this to end._ The merchant grinned down at the impassive Prince, who closed his eyes against the sight and took the man between his lips.

He had barely registered the nauseating taste of the merchant’s unclean flesh when Kane let loose a soft moan and threw his hips forward while yanking the Elf’s head to him. Legolas immediately brought his hands up to push the lascivious human away as the man’s member filled his mouth. The Elf could not breathe with the girth of the merchant blocking his airway. _Do not fight it._ Placing his palm against the human’s thighs, the Elf tried ineptly to remove his head from the man’s grasp, but Kane only pressed the Elf against him more with his hold in Legolas’ hair, thereby driving his shaft farther into the Wood-Elf’s throat. _Will you let him use you as you have let Estel, as you have allowed the merchants to do so?_ Legolas ceased endeavoring to be free of having the human inside his mouth when the scar told him, _You are nothing but the humans’ whore._

Removing himself from the Elf’s orifice after the Elf stopped struggling, the merchant groaned, saying, “Your mouth is not made for apologies, Elfling, but for much more pleasing things.”

The Prince tried to regain his breath as his swollen throat protested with his each harsh bark of coughing. _You are nothing._ But the human soon had twisted the Elf’s head to him again by his hold of Legolas’ hair, ravishing the laegel’s mouth with the forceful jab of his shaft between the Wood-Elf’s lips, try as Legolas might to keep his mouth free of the merchant long enough to inhale. Instinctually, he sought to close his jaws, seeking to disrupt the object from his mouth as his body yearned for air.

As if sensing this, the merchant withdrew, jerking Legolas’ head away from him painfully by his hair. “Can’t have that, can we, whore? Your manners have not improved from the first time we met,” the gasping merchant queried, chuckling his pleasure at the Wood-Elf's compliant surrender to his obscene desires.

With his hand still behind the laegel’s neck, he forced Legolas to the floor, causing the Prince to kneel in front of the standing man with his shoulders against the side of the bed. _You are no Prince._

Bending the laegel’s neck backwards over the edge of the bed, the human now seized the hair at the top of the Prince’s head, and used his hold to press the Elf’s head until it laid back on the bed, while with his other hand he kept the Elf’s mouth open. _You are pathetic._

“Do not bite me, Elfling. Your father would not be happy to hear under what circumstances you abused his guest,” the merchant teased, ramming his engorged shaft into the laegel’s opened mouth. Legolas began to gag, his chest heaving with the need to breathe, and his swollen throat convulsing at this new torment.

 _Let him use you. It is of no consequence to anyone, for all know you as a whore._ Forever it seemed that the man pounded his shaft down Legolas’ pharynx, the head of the merchant’s shaft beating against the back of the Elf’s throat. Kane moaned incessantly, the instinctual, albeit token resistance that Legolas manifested heightened the human’s enjoyment of the laegel’s subjugation.

Legolas felt no pain and no pleasure. To distract himself, to retain the insensate state that prevented him from realizing he was once more being used by the merchant, the laegel concentrated on the oblivion filling him, and not on his inability to breathe or the horrendous smell of the man’s body and putrid taste. Not even the pain the merchant inflicted upon him was quieting the scar’s censure, and it told him, _You should have died. It is not too late, whore._

Kane suddenly bellowed, thrusting violently into Legolas’ mouth before he abruptly stopped, his body trembling as his seed spurted from him, gagging the Elf once again at the unusual, foul taste of seed in his mouth that did not belong to his beloved Ranger. Luckily, the merchant pulled away quickly, leaving the Prince to fall forward from where he knelt on his knees, his hands catching him before he fell onto his face on the floor. _You are nothing._

His tongue was coated in the man’s fluid, his lungs ached from the scant air he had drawn during the ordeal, the laegel’s lips were bruised, and the corners of his mouth were bleeding from the force with which Kane had shoved his erection within – however, the unfeeling Prince did not care. He wiped the man’s essence from his face, spitting the taste of the merchant from him and onto the carpeted floor, coughing from the abuse to his throat and the pungent seed that he had been forced to imbibe.

 _It is over,_ he thought, rising from his knees to sit precariously on the bed, struggling to retain the numbness for a while yet, for at least the time it would take for him to be free of the human’s presence before his grief overwhelmed him.

_You are pathetic._

Kane had seated himself at the desk across the way, the sweat pouring over his forehead and into his eyes; the corpulent merchant blotted his face with his shirt, and then reached into his tunic for his flask. While Kane drank, Legolas stood on shaky legs, pushing the hair from his eyes to see as he quickly shambled his way from the bed and to the door. _It is over. Tomorrow he will leave. This will be over,_ the Elf chanted to himself, never wanting to see the human’s face again.Seizing his robe, he was about to wrap it around his bared chest when Kane began to laugh again.

The merchant, Legolas saw as he turned unwillingly to the source of so malefic a sound, had recovered from the insensibility of his rapture, and was already stroking his sex back to life. “Where are you going, Elf?”

“I am leaving,” he told the merchant, gathering his robe against his chest, longing for some defense from the vile human, as insufficient as that protection might be. “You have what you have asked for,” he tried to tell the man.

 _Not again,_ he pled, knowing it would do no good to argue with the merchant or the scar. What the human had asked of him already was too much for the Wood-Elf to live with, but what he wanted now could obliterate the numbness that kept the laegel alive. The detachment allowed the laegel to shirk his grief, and he thought of the leering smile the man held, _I cannot live through it again._

“I am not done with you yet,” Kane rebutted, waddling from his chair to Legolas, taking the robe from the inert Prince’s hand, and throwing it back to the floor. Legolas’ torpor threatened to leave him with the man’s statement.

 _You deserve this._ Legolas had no pride to fight the merchant, nor did he wish to try. If Kane wanted him, he would have him, whether it meant the Elf’s death or not. He could not anger his already enraged father.

Grabbing the laegel’s arm, the merchant whirled him around by it to face him fully. “Your apology is not complete.”

An obtundent Legolas let the man steer him from the door, allowing the human to lead him to the chair where Kane earlier had been sitting to regain his composure. _You are nothing._ The man sat in the chair, wresting the Elf’s hips so that Legolas stood before him; still grinning, the human began to untie the lacings of the Prince’s leggings, maneuvering the tight trousers from the Wood-Elf’s waist. The Prince merely stood there, his vapid, vacant gaze settling on the window beside the desk. Outside the faint light of the moon and stars lit up the forest surrounding the mountain in which the palace was carved – his home, a place where he ought to feel safe, could not grant him the peace he desired. He knew what would, however, for he had experienced it in Mithfindl’s hands, though the relief had been short-lived.

The merchant did not bother to remove the Elf’s leggings completely but slid them only as far as needed to expose that which he sought – the Prince’s flaccid shaft and his supple rear. _You are no Prince._ Snickering, the human slicked his hand with the seed and saliva from his own member, and then encased the Elf’s shaft within his fist, sliding it over the Silvan’s limp member as though to stimulate him. _What would your father think of you now?_ Legolas concentrated on the white tufts of thin hair on the man’s head, which was bowed in concupiscence before him, willing himself not to respond to the human’s touch. His body betrayed him, for the numbness and emotionless stupor in which he remained to battle the grief threatening to tow him under had cleaved his wandering mind from his battered body. _You deserve this._

“Not enjoying yourself?”

_You don’t seem overly excited, Princeling._

Kane rose from the chair and wrapped his arms around the Elf’s waist as he stood. Dragging the Elf against him, the merchant, shorter than the laegel, barely met the Prince’s chin. “We will change that, Prince. No reason for you not to enjoy yourself, also,” the human told the Elf obligingly, before turning the laegel around.

“Bend over, Elfling,” the merchant purred, pressing Legolas’ back so that the Prince had no choice since he had not the will to fight. Instead of allowing the Elf to rest his weight on his hands on the chair’s seat, Kane folded the Wood-Elf’s body over the chair’s back. The high-backed chair was shorter than the Elf’s waist, and with his legs spread and barely under him, his navel rested on the hard wooden rail at its top. The Prince’s weight was fully upon his hipbones when the merchant lifted the Elf by his waist, further spreading the Elf’s legs with his own to fit between them.

“So eager, aren’t you,” the human said, ramming one of his thick and stubby fingers inside of Legolas' opening.

_You are ours, Elfling. Nothing more than a toy for us to please ourselves with._

As he prodded the Wood-Elf’s aperture, the merchant sighed, “So tight, and so eager to please.”

He could feel the head of the man’s shaft nudging his body’s opening as if it were distant, as if he were watching the human abuse him, rather than experiencing it firsthand. His body longed for it even as his mind denied both his body’s reaction and the very situation itself.

With the man’s first excruciating thrust into his unprepared and tensed body, the agony quieted the hateful scar. As had happened with Mithfindl and the merchants in the woods, Kane’s infliction of pain relieved the Wood-Elf of thinking, of feeling the despair eating away at his soul, for he withdrew from it, leaving his body to react to the pain as it had before. He became aroused against his will, unable to control his reaction, as he could not with the merchant’s poison. Although this time there was no poison, the very absence of the scar through the sensual rending of his flesh relieved him of his corporal numbness – as it had with Mithfindl. Legolas withdrew from the event, trying very hard not to notice when the man thrust into him again, tearing his tender flesh as his body clenched around the man’s shaft, opposing his presence within him as he bucked against the invasion. He found himself too emotionally deadened to care. Under the inebriated, revolting merchant, Legolas felt himself slipping away.

The merchant lunged forward, rocking the Elf and chair as his intrusion became more sadistic. Kane grabbed the Elf’s arm, twisting it behind the Wood-Elf’s back to keep the laegel from pulling his lower body away from him. “It is no fun unless you fight me. Can you not feel me?” With his other hand, he found the Elf’s slowly rising shaft and began to tug it in harsh, short yanks, fondling the Prince viciously. Unable to sustain his molestation while he pounded into the channel of the Wood-Elf, the merchant gave up trying to humiliate the Prince by forcing him to enjoy his torment and instead focused solely on his own pleasure.

 _This is not happening,_ the laegel told himself. _I am not here._

His body thought otherwise, however, and it began to respond avidly when the merchant switched the angle of his thrusts, pressing the Elf’s lower body harshly onto the chair’s hard back, adding to the pain of the man’s violation to keep the scar quiet, and his body humming in unfelt excitement with each thrust of the man's shaft against his deep-seated center of pleasure. Kane smashed into the Prince, his shaft skewering the hapless, incurious Legolas, who prayed that his unfeeling acceptance would remain.

He did not know how long he laid across the high-backed chair with the man behind him, using him with brutal plunges into his body, his grip digging into the lash across the Elf’s lower back from the fire poker his father had struck him with the night before, nor did he feel the human’s seed when it spurted forth within him. The merchant huffed, laying himself over the laegel’s back for a moment as he composed himself.

Gripping the laegel’s hips, Kane abruptly threw the Prince from the chair to the ground to stand over him. Legolas tried to roll onto his side, to hide his offensive arousal at the man’s vile touch, or to flee if he could, but Kane laughed and stepped with all of his weight on the laegel’s thigh, on the hateful scar, to keep the Woodland being on his back.

“You’ve not had any fun, Elfling. Let me take care of that for you,” Kane soothed, though no comfort lay behind his words.

The merchant knelt with his hands always on the Elf, ready to stop the laegel should he try to flee. When the human began to molest him once again, stroking the Elf’s arousal to completion, Legolas saw his own seed as he found pleasure at the man’s handling but he did not believe it.

_This is not me._

It was him, though, and the Elf, unwilling to accept this as he accepted the man’s torment, did not notice what happened next, not when the man ridiculed him, nor when the merchant, somewhat frightened by the Prince's ever increasing reclusive demeanor, pushed the Elf towards the door, handing him his robe and telling him goodnight as if he had not just raped the Wood-Elf, as if he had not just taken from the laegel the last of his sanity.

Legolas felt nothing, and if at all possible, he had truly become it.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kalin had come to pass the time with the Noldor, commander, and Ranger, his nightly duties completed. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, no more patient than Estel with waiting, for the Wood-Elf tapped his scabbard against the stone floor in a steady beat until the twins could take no more.

“Enough, Kalin, please,” Elladan complained, shifting his recline against his twin so that he lay fully on the couch, placing his feet on the seat beside him; however, as the commander currently inhabited said seat, the twin’s feet were promptly thrown back to the floor and out of Glorfindel’s lap.

Elrohir snickered at the commander’s cross deed but spoke to Kalin, saying, “Unless you plan adding words to that tune you play. A little entertainment would be welcome.”

Irritated despite himself at the twins’ jovial attitude, the Ranger bit his lip and returned his attention to the fireplace. _Their mirth is ill timed._ Sighing, Estel watched the flames devouring the locust logs, thinking, _But like their anger, their mirth hides their own worry._ He found it difficult to be angry with the twins, as they did not understand, nor did they see any solution to the laegel’s plight. Aragorn, however, saw a clear end to his lover’s torment, no matter the cost to himself. _I wonder of what they speak,_ he thought of the convening Wood-Elves and merchant close by, unaware that the Prince and merchant were no longer in the study with Thranduil. _Surely, it would not take this long for an apology._

Upon his arrival, the sentry had told the brothers and commander of what the King had required of him earlier – Thranduil had desired that a guard be placed outside the merchant’s rooms for the human’s protection. _They would all stand between us, but I will get to Kane._ With his fists clenched so tightly into his hands that the muscles of his forearm began to throb with the strain, the Ranger affirmed, as he had many nights before then, _He will not last the fortnight. None will stop me, Legolas. I will tear Kane apart. I promise you._

Aragorn turned at the surprised call of one of the King’s sentries, and one of whom stood at the end of the hall shouted in welcome, “Galendil, what is –”

“Kalin, where?” the sentry asked in a huffing stutter, but he did not stop to hear the answer, and Estel watched the Wood-Elf run past the guards without sparing them another glance. The sentry, one who the Ranger had seen before but did not know, ran headlong down the King’s hallway, past the two bewildered sentries standing at its entrance.

Kalin quickly stood up and darted after the sentry, calling to the Wood-Elf, his voice sharp and commanding, “Galendil! I am here.”

“Thank …Valar,” Aragorn heard the sentry reply. The Wood-Elf jogged back to the entrance to the hall to stand between the King’s two disgruntled guards, and leant forward with his hands on his knees in his breathless exhaustion, a state in which the Ranger had not often seen an Elf. “I could not find you,” the Elf panted, his words broken into mere phrases, “looked everywhere. Even in the gardens. Thought maybe you were with the King. Thought to get Thranduil if not you. We were told not to enter. Thought you would know what to do.”

Giving the younger Elf a scathing glare, one of Thranduil’s guards impugned, “We could have struck you down for disobeying the King’s orders, Galendil! You can’t just –”

“Emergency,” Galendil interrupted, his tone clipped, waving his superior’s lecture off with one hand, for his attention and regard was for Kalin only, whom was his utmost superior, other than Ninan and the King himself.

Utterly confused but alarmed, Kalin asked, “What are you on about? An emergency for whom?”

Believing Legolas and the merchant to be with Thranduil, Estel listened only halfheartedly to what the sentry’s answer would be to Kalin’s question, for his every thought was on what was occurring in the King’s study and he could imagine nothing other than Orc or spider that would incite such hurry from a Wood-Elf.

He held his breath, his heart seemingly stopped beating in his chest, when the sentry simply stated, “The Prince.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas opened the door to the guest room to slip out of it. He let his hair hang over his face and kept his head down as he walked through the hall. The scar was blessedly vacant from his thoughts as he limped away from the merchant and the location of his shameful capitulation to the human’s will. Although he heard the sentry guarding the door saying his name to gain his attention, the Wood-Elf kept hobbling, recognizing that the other sentry was missing, but not digesting the information. The scar’s voice was rematerializing and his only desire, his only thought, was that he wanted to be alone with its reprimand.

The respite had not lasted long – the scar spoke to him and the laegel felt as if he’d no reprieve at all, as brief as it had been under the merchant’s hateful lust.

_You are nothing._

He took to running up the incline leading to his rooms, passing no one as he ran, for the night was late. _I am tired of fighting you,_ he told the scar, feeling it stretch with his loping gait but not aware of the pain, although he was fully aware that it was he that spoke the insidious disparagement that undermined his effort to keep his promise to Estel and his father by not abandoning them for death.

_You are pathetic._

_Leave me be._ The Prince stumbled as he arrived at his bedroom door. The scar, as if knowing the laegel’s plans, attacked him more fiercely, seeking to retain its control over him, and reminding the once proud warrior, _You should have died. It is not too late, whore._

He balanced himself, his body losing its numbness in a sudden wave of grief and pain. Flinging the door open, the Prince ran recklessly inside his room, intent on reaching the cabinet across the way. _You are nothing._

He searched through the armoire, throwing onto the floor carelessly the fine tunics and various other articles of clothing in the cabinet that happened in his way as he sought what would save him. _I know it is here, I have not lost it,_ he thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the bitter tears that welled within them. _You are no Prince._ He ransacked the clothing, his actions more desperate as the scar’s influence grew, as his numbness threatened to flee him altogether. _Whore. You are pathetic._ The cool texture of the object he sought met his now sensate fingers. _Let this work. Let this be over._ He went into the bathing room, hopped into the deep tub, then fell promptly to his knees when the pressure on his injured limb became too much, for his now aware senses related to him the agony of his myriad injuries.

“I want no more of you,” he told his marred thigh, weary to be arguing with himself once again, when he knew that words could not free him of the malicious loathing the scar emanated.

 _You are nothing. You are wretched, Elfling._ Crawling across the cool tiles of the bathtub, the Prince held tightly to the object of his salvation. _You are no Prince._ He wanted the scar gone, and this time he would see that it did not return. _You are nothing._ The scar tortured him, not needing words to pulse its condemnation through him, though it spoke nonetheless. _Whore._

Feeling every pain the merchant had inflicted, the tear of his body’s opening, the searing agony of the man’s seed inside of his ripped flesh, the bruises that his father’s anger had left on his body, and the malevolent throb of the scar, the laegel despaired that he might never be himself again. He might never be sane again.

_What will Estel think of you now? You have given yourself once more to your rapist._

But this time he would silence the scar’s influence, not just its words, for now and forever.

_You should have died. It is not too late, whore._

This time he had a knife.


	43. Chapter 43

The dagger’s blade was still sharp – a sign of its excellent craftsmanship by the Noldor who had made it. Ironically, the dagger had been a present to him from the twins when he had been recognized by both his father and his homeland as a warrior. Although sharp, the dagger was ornamental. It was a blade meant for exhibition or ceremony; the latter was its purpose for Legolas tonight.

 _I will carve you out,_ he told the scar, testing the blade against his leggings. Shined to a high gloss, the blade cut through the fabric easily, and as the laegel added more pressure, the dagger slid into his flesh.

Without the numbness, the Wood-Elf felt every laceration that he sliced into the muscle and sinew of his thigh. Legolas knew this would not work. He knew that when the twins or Ranger found him, or when his father heard of his actions, that he would be deemed as truly mad. _I will be locked away. They will never let me be after this,_ he thought, adding more weight to the dagger’s hilt when the treacherous scar responded, _There will be no you after this. You should have died. Why do you not die now?_

A pool of blood glittered in the bottom of the bathtub, its luminescent quality in the pale light of the room capturing the Elf’s gaze but not his attention. _I wish I had known this earlier,_ he thought, watching his life’s essence drain from him and trickle down the egress. He had been certain that the Noldor or Aragorn would find him here, but they had not – not yet. While waiting for them, or for death, the laegel had naught to do but think. Now, when it seemed to be beyond the time for such revelations to aid him, the Wood-Elf finally understood.

He knew he had separated from himself. The scar was merely the physical manifestation of this, much as he had learnt from his discussion with Lord Elrond. The marred flesh on his thigh was his own malcontent, his own hatred and censure. _It may speak as my father, but it is not my father who has caused this. I have accepted his blame for too long until it is now mine. I have been weak._ Like his father’s scorn, the scar was pacified only by the removal of such reprimand, the cleansing of his shame and guilt by pain. Water could not clean him of these things. Only suffering had sufficed. Even this did not work to relieve him now.

His thigh was bleeding profusely, his flesh torn in many gouges. The white bone beneath the scar had been exposed in part by his destructive desire to kill the voice, and it peeked through the shredded cloth and flesh over his thigh; however, knowing that the voice was him, Legolas understood that the hateful vociferations would only quiet permanently with his demise. He had pushed his own self-doubts and self-hatred away, as he had done his grief, and so the scar was a reminder of them – a painful memoir written on his flesh by the branch of a tree – that kept him from dismissing his emotions. He had thought that not feeling was better than feeling. He had been wrong. The physical numbness he could contend with, but the emotional vacuity left him open to the scar’s reprimand, his deceitful mentality’s own attempt to force him into facing that which he had chosen not to, whether for fear of his father’s wrath after the first assault, or his desire to remain living for the Ranger after the second.

He dug at the scar as he sat in his bathtub, thinking of it as it continued assaulting him with its now silent hatred.

The laegel cried aloud, hunching over himself as his fingers dug deep into his flesh, opened wide with the help of his blade; the pain did not incite his sorrow. With each vicious gouge of his flesh, the scar had quieted, but his despair had returned. _It is one or the other,_ he decided, removing his fingers from the much abused skin and muscle when the mar’s hatred had abated once more. _The scar is quiet only when I feel, and when I feel, all I feel is despair, unless Estel is with me. I cannot face this grief,_ the laegel agonized, gathering his knife from the tub’s floor to hold tightly in his blood soaked hand. _But I cannot live with the scar’s condemnation._ His numbness he had used to stifle the fear to face his father and the grief he had yet to contend with over his attacks, but doing so had consequently squashed the joy he should feel to be in love with the Ranger and the simple pleasures of living. The deadness eradicated all that he could feel.

The scar – or its center, at least – had begun far before his ordeal with the merchants in Lake-town. Legolas had always withdrawn, at first from his father’s odium, long ere he had removed himself emotionally from the physical torment his body had endured in Kane’s storage room. In the presence of his father, the Prince felt powerless. With the merchants, he had once again felt helpless and without control. He had long ago found it better not to feel when all that was offered to him was pain and ridicule the likes of which he could not escape. To flee, then, he had removed himself from feeling the helplessness and pain, and this habit had eventuated into how he had come to deal with all that he could not control or that which threatened the fragile self-worth he had felt for his abilities as a warrior. This displacement of himself during his trials had allowed him to live through that which Elves could not – his assaults by the merchants and the ongoing struggle to live under the hatred of his father.

Legolas had kept the secret of his first attack from his father to avoid his King’s censure. In the presence of one who could never be pleased, his actions were meaningless under such judgment, and regardless of his torment, he had known his father would see the Prince's rape as his own fault, rather than of the merchants’ doing. Therefore, the Prince had retreated through denial, both from others and himself, in the hopes of withdrawing from his pain and grief, much as he did while enduring his father’s ire. His nightmares, Legolas realized now, were the first way for his faer to try to deal with that which he had refused to manage.

Nevertheless, the denial had not been possible during his second attack. By then, the disconnection from his grief was too hard to maintain. The merchants’ poisoning him only intensified this disconnection. He had withdrawn further from his emotions to combat the grief, but even more so from his body to avoid the feelings of pleasure he had experienced unwillingly at the merchants’ hands. Legolas had stayed for the Ranger, though, and in doing so, had survived, but had merely sustained this disconnection, this severance of his mind and body, to avoid facing his sorrow.

Numb by choice, needing the numbness to evade the grief, to stay alive, Legolas had been bereft of all emotion, not just his despair. Aragorn had brought him from this, reforming the severance of his mind and body, and temporarily allowing the Wood-Elf to experience both the devoted touch of his Ranger and the love within his heart. He had felt.

And yet, the scar had drawn him back continually from this illusory amalgamation of the parts of him that had once been a whole. The scar, much like his nightmares, served to draw him back to his grief, to force him into facing that which he knew would kill him. Like his father, the scar held only censure; the pain of rending the scar, much like the pain his father offered him for atonement, ended the condemnation. However, Aragorn, too, ended the censure. But the Ranger did not divide him; no, the Ranger had interrupted the cycle of criticism, pain, and then propitiation to which the laegel had become accustomed. From Aragorn he had felt only love and forgiveness, and for this, he had felt, both emotionally and physically. Aragorn had stopped the scar’s voice with his unconditional amnesty.

 _Estel is merely another way to distract myself from this grief._ Sighing, the Prince lay on his side on the tub floor, and felt his own blood as it soaked into the sleeve of his torn robe and wetted his already tear-stained face. _Had I been stronger, I could have faced my fear and sorrow. But I am weak._

With Mithfindl, as with Kane, the laegel had withdrawn emotionally from his body, leaving it to find pleasure in the pain forced upon him. His body was not under his control when severed from his mind under the merchants’ lust, and so he had abandoned it and the shame of his body’s pleasure in the merchants’ company, preferring instead the numbness to his despair. With them, he had felt nothing, not the sting of the mar’s hatred or the pain they inflicted. He had felt naught, and then, he could become nothing. Nevertheless, such pain could not last, and though he inflicted it upon himself, it left him no less blameworthy or ashamed. If anything, such actions only increased that which he sought to be free of, and thereby he had used their foul hurts and his own self-inflicted agony to be free of the scar but had only landed himself in a situation direr as time passed.

Aragorn’s love was as cleansing as the pain. Both ablutionary actions wrenched him from his numbness. The Ranger had told him before their first bout of pleasure – when Legolas could not feel the water while bathing in the stream outside Imladris – that the merchants had not defiled him. This was true. Legolas did not feel that the merchants had forever sullied his flesh. No, it was his heart that was tainted, with both grief and hatred. The pain cleansed him, releasing him of the scar’s hatred and censure, but only pushed him further from facing his grief. The Ranger, however, cleansed the Wood-Elf, also, but this too did not rid of him of his despair.

He could not clean himself of this burden. Neither Aragorn nor the pain of his father’s beatings, or that which he inflicted upon himself, could ever work to clean him. The taint went too deeply. His grief, he knew, must be confronted, or he would fade. He had known this since Imladris but still he had pushed away his fear and despair.

Legolas realized as he lay in the pool of his own blood in the tub, _The punishment will never be enough, because I have naught for which to be punished._

He was blameless, guiltless. The pain had never been enough to appease his father, and it would never be enough to appease his own self-hatred. His grief was catching up to him. He could not afford to withdraw from it again, for it would not be so easily cast aside. The scar demanded that he face these things. However, facing his grief would kill him – of this, he was sure.

 _I do not want to die,_ he thought, remembering his promise to Aragorn and his King. _I have promised Estel, and my father, that I would not leave them, that I would not abandon them. And yet I sit here waiting for death._ He wanted to keep his promise to the Ranger, especially.

Estel was all he wanted, for though he was soiled, his love for Aragorn was pure. If Estel was the only joy the laegel could hope to experience and his love that which the Ranger desired still, then he would endure the scar forever without complaint or regret. And so again, the Wood-Elf tried very hard not to feel, doing now as he had done so many times before, withdrawing from his despair and abhorrence – to remain, to survive, even if in the shadow of the mar’s odious vociferations and of his Ada's, Kane's, and his own loathing.


	44. Chapter 44

Fear spurred his sprint, wrath fueling him the short distance until he stood before the Wood-Elf who had spoken of Legolas and of tragedy. The sentry started at the abrupt appearance of the Ranger, his Elven brothers, and the commander of Imladris encircling him outside the entrance to the King’s wing.

“What is it? What has happened? Where is he?” Aragorn asked, grabbing the sentry’s arm roughly.

_Legolas is with Thranduil. How came Galendil to know that Legolas is in trouble if he is with Thranduil?_

When the sentry only stared at him and then down to the arm the human held, unwilling to disclose to the Ranger his news, Kalin asserted with a fierce bark, “Speak.”

“I am not sure if anything is wrong,” Galendil now minced, tugging his arm free of the Ranger’s grasp and frowning at the Elves and man around him, all of whom stared at him with clear expectation. “We thought we heard the merchant and the Prince speaking – arguing more like it. King Thranduil said we were not to enter the merchant's room under any circumstances, so we weren't certain –”

Frustrated and losing his temper, Estel cared less about what was said and more that the sentry’s answer intimated that the Wood-Elf and the merchant were together, and not with the King as he had thought. The Ranger interrupted the sentry, “Where is Legolas now?”

“In the guest rooms,” Galendil explained, his grudging answer ending with a surly frown as he admitted, “with the merchant from Lake-town.”

Aragorn needed to know nothing else. Leaving the others to hear the Wood-Elf’s explanation if they would, the Ranger sped across the throne room and then through the main hall, where he flew up the stairs two at a time and as fast as his legs would carry him. He could not hear his brothers running behind him, did not know if they followed him, and did not trouble himself to find out. He heard only his fast beating heart and his impugning thoughts.

_I have failed him again. I promised I would let none hurt him, and I have failed him again._

Needing to climb only two full flight of stairs, he burst through the landing’s archway and into the hall where the guests of Eryn Galen had their rooms, passing the twins’ shared room, his own that he had not stayed in this visit to the forest, and the commander’s guested chambers, as well, with absentminded wonder that the merchant, Legolas’ rapist, would receive the same luxuries as the sons of Elrond or the famed Balrog-slayer. At the end of the hall stood a confused sentry, who at the Ranger’s rapid approach laid his hand on the sword strapped to his side.

_Thranduil would place us all in the same hall and not expect me to kill Kane?_

Estel stopped short of the sentry, covering his mouth quickly when he began to cough, but the Ranger was not terribly winded from his mad sprint and his sickness enough that he could not ask between coughs, “Where did he go, Nimrol? Where is the Prince?”

“Prince Legolas has only just left,” the vexed sentry replied, grabbing Aragorn as he tried to enter the room. His voice firm, the sentry hissed, “Legolas is not here, and neither should you be.”

Although he heard the sentry’s warning, the Ranger could feel the presence of the merchant behind the door and he desired Kane’s demise more than he desired the air his aching lungs drew. Estel struggled towards the door and past the sentry’s arm held out to stop him, only vaguely aware that the twins and Glorfindel were running down the hall, and only then because the sentry stared down the hall at them. Had he noticed, and had he not been brimming with the desire to feel running between his fingers the blood of the human behind the heavy wooden portal, the Ranger would have ribbed his brothers and teacher that he had beaten them to the guest rooms. As it was, Aragorn was too occupied in breeching the sentry’s barring presence, not caring that the Wood-Elf had begun to draw his sword, though luckily the twins reached him before he could shove his way past the hapless sentry or earn himself an injury from the stalwart guard.

“Nimrol!” Elladan heaved his human brother backwards, while Elrohir placed himself before Aragorn when the Wood-Elf nearly had his blade removed. “There is no need for weapons. We seek only to find Legolas.”

“I am sorry, Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir. But I am ordered by King Thranduil to let none of you near the merchant, at all cost,” Nimrol explained, letting his sword fall back into its sheath but giving the Ranger a scolding glare.

“Tell us of Legolas, Nimrol, and speak quickly,” Kalin ordered as he ran to them. They now all encircled the sentry, placing Nimrol in the same uncomfortable position as they had Galendil only moments before.

Nimrol glanced between them with a wary eye. “He has left.” Seeing his fellow guard, the last to approach them, Nimrol scolded him, “I told you not to get Kalin. All is well, Galendil. You have worried everyone for nothing.”

Kalin closed the space between him and his underling, his body becoming motionless and his voice subversively soft as he asked Nimrol, “Galendil says he heard the Prince and merchant arguing. What has happened?”

Shifting slightly from foot to foot under the scrutiny of his superior, Nimrol looked at the Elves around him again, his gaze lighting briefly on the Ranger though he quickly looked away from the utmost ire on Estel’s visage. “You ordered us not to enter the merchant's room or allow anyone to disturb him, Kalin, as did the King,” he argued to the Prince's sentry without conviction, his voice lowering as his embarrassment increased. Whispering, Nimrol looked his superior in the eye, telling Kalin, “We had no reason to enter. We couldn’t hear what they were saying... or doing. Not enough for us to think that the Prince was in danger. He did not call out to us.”

His face only inches from the squirming sentry’s, Kalin inquired softly, “Galendil has decided otherwise. Now tell me, what did you hear, then?”

“It does not matter now,” Elladan interrupted Kalin and placed a hand on the Wood-Elf’s shoulder to calm him. “Where did the Prince go, Nimrol? Is he well?”

“Prince Legolas left.” Glad to be answering the Noldo’s questions instead and that his superior had stepped back to give him room, the sentinel cleared his throat, his explanation filling the edgy silence of the hallway, “I tried to stop Prince Legolas, to see if he was well, but he did not halt. I do not know where he went.”

Thoughts tumbled in the Ranger’s head, incomplete and disorderly in his frenzied thinking. “How did he get past us? How did he and Kane leave without our knowing?”

“He came through the back hallway,” Galendil supplied, drawing all of their attention to him. “The King’s sentries told me,” he explained, “when I was looking for you, Kalin.”

Aragorn knew of the hidden tunnels and berated himself for forgetting of them. _He has slipped past me. How long was he here with Kane?_ The Ranger shoved his fingers through his hair, pulling it harshly away from his face in frustration. _Where would Legolas have gone?_

They stood there for a moment, each thinking the same thought, before Glorfindel took charge, suggesting decisively to the Elf nearest him, who happened to be Elrohir, “You and Elladan check the gardens. I am sure you know which ones the Prince prefers.” When the twins had taken off, running together down the long hallway, the commander pointed to Kalin, asking him, “You know where the hidden tunnels in the palace lay and where they lead?” At the sentry’s nod, Glorfindel instructed Kalin, who was more than willing to comply with the elder Elf’s orders, “Search them. Any sentry you see along your way, tell them to seek the Prince, also.”

Aragorn turned to run, knowing just where he would find the Prince, if they would find the Prince at all. He sprinted to the sloping hallway, eager to reach Legolas’ quarters, but a hand seized his tunic, and the Ranger was spun around by it to face the commander. “Where do you go?”

“Legolas’ chamber. If he wishes to hide here in his own home, none will find him anywhere they look, unless he is not hiding and has gone to his rooms,” the Ranger hurriedly told his teacher. “He may be there.”

The commander released his tunic and the Ranger began to run again, but Glorfindel now seized the human by his elbow. “Not without me, Estel. You are not leaving my sight.”

“Fine,” he ground out between clenched teeth, not caring in the least if the commander accompanied him, so long as he let go of him. Glorfindel soon did, leaving the Ranger free to continue his dash, though the commander followed close on the human’s heels.

Blurs of shadow and light, colors of tapestries, murals, ornamentation, and the occasional plant he passed by without regard. The Ranger had faced many daunting situations in his lifetime. He had been taken by Orcs, encountered foul creatures that had no name, and had suffered losses of friends, both Elf-kind and human. Never, however, could he remember feeling this scared, not even when the merchants were attacking Legolas in the forest, or when the laegel had lain unconscious and dying in his arms during their journey to Imladris. Not when the Prince had disappeared that stormy night before their leaving the valley, and not when the Wood-Elf had admitted to him the scar’s influence over him had Estel felt such doom. A terrible, sickening feeling was rising within the Ranger. A portentous perceptivity clung to him, crawling over his flesh as ivy does up a tree, delving its roots into the living trunk’s tissue, and slowly strangling it. Such did his fear capture him that when they climbed the last of the winding, inclining hallway up the many floors of the Mirkwood palace, he stopped at reaching the Prince’s wing in terror of what they might find.

Glorfindel nudged him forward out of his way and into the hallway. “Where do all these doors lead?”

“Look on the balcony,” the Ranger told the commander, pointing to the appropriate doorway. “It’s in the library. He would be either there or in his bedroom. They are the only two rooms he uses.”

Without answering, the commander flung open the door to the massive library, entering the room as the Ranger walked on, neglecting the other doors along the corridor in favor of the door at its end – the Prince’s bedroom door. _Nimrol said he was well,_ he consoled himself, grabbing the door’s handle but unable to open the portal yet. Only the thought of Legolas needing him, grieving or injured within, gave the human the capacity to enter.

The room was dark and empty. Except for the missing tray of untouched food, which had likely been removed by a servant while they had been absent, and clothing strewn haphazardly about the furniture and floor, there was no evidence that any had entered since they had left with Legolas earlier that eve.

“Greenleaf?” he called out, checking the floor around the bed and the recesses of the room. “Greenleaf? It is Estel. Are you here?”

He strode into the bathing room, hoping that he might find the Prince there, to find instead that the smaller space held no Legolas. The room was lacking furniture behind which the laegel might be found and there were seemingly no places for the Prince to hide. _He is not here._

Crestfallen, the Adan turned to leave, his mind cogitating on where else Legolas might have gone. _Perhaps he is with his father once more._ As he walked through the doorway of the bathing room that led into the Prince’s bedchambers, Estel stopped to think. _Perhaps Glorfindel or the twins have found him already._ The steady drip of the faucet over the bathtub disrupted the Ranger’s thinking. He tried to ignore it, to concentrate on his reflections of where his lover may have gone after his encounter with the merchant, but the pattering of liquid hitting the tiled floor of the tub continued. A soft gurgling sound came from the bathing room behind him. The Ranger turned to it without thinking, his feet walking him to the tub while his mind still hoped, _Maybe Legolas has gone to the stables, or to the woods._

With his feet at the tub’s inset edge, the Ranger peered distractedly at the noisome, dripping faucet coming from the ceiling, watching the water dribble down from it and into the tub. Bright red liquid was pooled on the tiles, the fluid following gravity’s force as it slid down the slight incline of the vat’s floor and into the drain at the bottom – and then he saw what was making the odd gurgling sound. The fluvial mix of water and claret trickled noisily past the suction of the single, long white finger that plugged the egress, keeping some of the sanguine fluid from escaping the drain.

Aragorn walked around the tub, knocking over the small table at its end and shattering jars of bathing oils as he moved, crushing the thin glass under his boots as he staggered to the tub’s other edge to see the Elf within more clearly.

_He is dead._

The Wood-Elf lay on his side, his opened robe and exposed trousers were saturated with blood and within the limitless blue eyes of his lover, there was nothing.

“I am sorry,” the Silvan suddenly whispered, his vacant eyes moving to stare at the human without truly seeing him, and causing Aragorn to startle as the seemingly lifeless corpse before him spoke.

His surprise to see his lover living broke his horrified indecision. The Ranger leapt into the tub, crying, “What have you done, Legolas?” He slipped on the pool of blood within, falling painfully to his knees before the laegel. He immediately saw the tattered cloth and flesh of Legolas’ thigh. “What has happened?”

He tried to touch the Wood-Elf, to stop the flow of blood that ran freely from the Elf’s wounds, but Legolas rose from his recline, his blond hair dripping over the side of his face, which had been lying in the crimson fluid. _Legolas’ blood,_ the Ranger thought, reaching for the laegel again. _Kane will pay for this. His end will not be merciful._

Once more, the Wood-Elf backed away, kicking his feet out and spattering blood as he tried to evade the healer’s grasp. “Greenleaf, please,” the Ranger exclaimed loudly, his stern tone frightening the laegel. “Let me help you. You are injured.”

But the Wood-Elf would not let the Ranger touch him. He crawled to the opposite end of the tub, sliding in his own essence as he tried to stand, to get out of the deep vat. In one hand, the Ranger noted, the laegel held a knife. “Leave me be.”

“It is Estel,” the Ranger tried to soothe the bleeding Prince, holding his hands out to him as he crawled on his knees over the slippery tiles to the Wood-Elf, hoping the laegel would realize he only intended to comfort him. “Kane will die for this, Legolas. I will not let him hurt you again, I promise. Now please let me help you.”

“He did not do this,” the laegel told him, pushing himself farther away from the Ranger by moving to sit on the edge of the tub. “I am sorry.”

The dagger the Elf held in his hand had incited his suspicions as to how the Prince had become injured, but the laegel’s words confirmed them. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, feeling his lover’s warm blood seep through the cloth of his leggings, the coppery liquid slipping through his hands as he moved over the tiled bathtub floor. “Greenleaf,” Aragorn whispered, “do not run from me. Let me help you.” Reaching the tub’s edge, the Ranger held tightly to the Elf’s calf, standing as he tried to contain the Wood-Elf.

The laegel swung his knife through the air, not coming close to injuring the human though the Prince could have easily slit the Ranger’s throat if he had so desired. Threatening the Ranger with a ferocious growl, his blue eyes no longer vacant, Legolas jerked his leg free from his lover’s fingers, the slick and bloodied cloth of his leggings too slippery for the Ranger to hold, as he pled with Aragorn to listen. “None can help me. Leave me be. Please... do not touch me.”

Legolas began to scoot backwards, to evade Estel. The knife in the laegel’s hand and the resurfacing of the emptiness in the Wood-Elf’s visage compelled the anxious Ranger into action. Jumping out of the tub and at the laegel, the human pounced upon his lover, driving the Wood-Elf into the floor under him. His heart broke as he heard the laegel cry out in pain and surprise. Aragorn did not wish to injure the Prince further and his eyes burned with tears from knowing that he was scaring the laegel, but he could not do as the Elf asked. He could not merely walk away from Legolas.

Estel grabbed the Prince’s wrist, slamming the laegel’s hand against the bathing room floor. The dagger skittered across the tiles and away from the laegel’s reach. Legolas fought under him, moaning and crying as he tried to remove the human from atop him, and though the Ranger tried to subdue the laegel, he could not keep the Wood-Elf still, for Legolas fought the Ranger as if fighting for his life.

“Do not touch me, please,” the Wood-Elf cried, wriggling fiercely under the Ranger, “Do not touch me. It is too soon. Please, let me free.”

The Wood-Elf would not stop struggling. He was only worsening his already potentially fatal injuries, but the Ranger did not know what else to do. “I will not hurt you. Please be still,” he begged the Wood-Elf, pressing himself over the laegel’s chest while he tried to stop the keening Prince’s thrashing legs. “You are only hurting yourself further. Please.”

He felt a hand at his shoulder, pulling him backwards and away from the Wood-Elf. “Estel,” he heard from behind him before he was lifted forcefully off his lover and thrown casually to the side. Landing on his rear with a bone chattering thud, the Ranger started to crawl back forthwith, but the hand that had thrown him grabbed him again by his shoulder. Looking up, Aragorn saw that Glorfindel stood between him and the laegel. “Stay back.”

Stricken with worry and terror, the Ranger obeyed, depending on the elder Elf to help Legolas, to calm him enough so that Aragorn could tend his wounds. He drew his legs under him and wiped the blood on his hands onto his trousers without even realizing his actions as he watched the commander kneel beside the weeping, distraught Prince lying on the floor. The young Elf had curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his wounded thigh as he hugged it to his torso.

“Legolas?” Glorfindel did not touch the Wood-Elf but only stayed beside him, waiting until the Prince’s trembling lulled. The young Elf relaxed somewhat, the sorrow and fear became absent from the laegel’s eyes once again, and Legolas allowed Glorfindel to pull him gently into sitting.

“Peace, Greenleaf. None here wishes to hurt you,” the commander told Legolas, pushing the sticky long strands of bloodied hair away from the laegel’s face. Aragorn had never seen the fierce commander act so kindly, but the elder Elf nearly cooed at the younger Elf, “Be at peace.”

_It is not me he fears. It cannot be. He must not recognize me._

He tried to get near the Elf again, to comfort the lamenting Wood-Elf, to see the damage done – or if nothing else, merely to touch the Prince, to let Legolas know he was here with him. At his slow approach, the Prince began to scream at him again, “Do not come near me, Estel. Please.” The Elf’s words left the Ranger with no doubt that Legolas knew who he was.

_He fears me. This cannot be._

“You are only upsetting him. Be gone,” Glorfindel demanded quietly, grappling with the blood drenched younger Elf to keep him from fighting when the Ranger did not heed his command but came closer, instead. Legolas began to writhe under the commander’s grasp, kicking out at him and swinging his arms to free himself, to flee Aragorn, as he sobbed in despair. Quiet no longer, the commander ordered, “Go to the other room, Estel!”

Aragorn tried to obey but could not pry his gaze away from the struggling Wood-Elf, nor could he leave. To see the Prince broken, endeavoring to be free of the elder Elf’s hold because he thought it to be Aragorn, consumed the human with rage. Legolas calmed, though, when he opened his eyes after a few moments, seeing that it was Glorfindel who held him, and that the Ranger had retreated to the doorway. The Prince’s struggles dissolved and he groaned into the commander’s tunic repeatedly, “I am sorry. I am sorry. Please. Do not let him touch me, my Lord. It is too soon. Please.”

Beseeching the human, the irate commander shouted at the Ranger, “Wait in the other room, now!”

Reluctantly, the Ranger left the bathing room, but not before he took up the dagger Legolas had dropped to the tiles during their struggle. He did not know what had happened. That his lover had been harmed was clear, nonetheless, and he knew of one that could tell him what had occurred. If Legolas would not allow him to help as the Ranger desired, Aragorn would help the Prince how he could. The human fled the room, running past Elladan and Elrohir as they walked towards him, towards the Prince’s chambers.

“Sweet Eru, Estel,” one of them pled, “wait. How are you injured?”

Elrohir grabbed the hem of his bloodied tunic, trying futilely to hold back the Ranger as he sped past, but Estel shoved the twin from him, unbalancing his Elven brother such that Elladan had to catch Elrohir to keep him from falling. Nothing would dissuade him, not his brothers, not Glorfindel, and not Thranduil.

_I will kill Kane now. He will not sleep easy this night while Legolas fades from terror and sorrow._


	45. Chapter 45

“If you wanted a bloodbath, I would have preferred that we found some Orcs to slay.”

“Yes, I would much prefer staining my clothes with Orc blood than yours,” the other glib twin agreed, flashing the Wood-Elf a smile though it drifted from his face when he resumed his careful washing of the laegel’s thigh. “Do not sleep. Not yet. Stay with us, Greenleaf.”

They did not know that Legolas had no intention of dying. They thought he would wither from his grief and pain, leaving them with a cold, dead corpse.

_Why would they not think you would die? You tried to kill yourself._

A dark haired Noldo left his side; the other one remained kneeling next to where the Prince still lay on his back on the tile floor of his bathing room. He could hear the faucet’s cold water pouring into the tub, splashing the blood already within and washing it away. The twin returned to hand his mirror image another clean, dampened towel.

_You are mad._

A colorless, tear-streaked face loomed above his and then turned to its double, suggesting, “Let us take him into the other room so that he is comfortable. And light the candelabrum by the bed, brother. We will need it.”

Nodding, one of the Noldorin Lords slipped an arm under the laegel’s legs and another under his shoulders, carrying him effortlessly from the bathing room and into his bedroom. His fine robe, heavy with his own essence, slipped free from his shoulders and fell onto the bedroom floor during their brief trip. Letting his head hang limply over his friend’s arm, Legolas watched the ceiling as it passed over him, unable to focus on his friends’ conversation, or on the significance of what had occurred in the last few minutes. At this point, he could not even tell the twins apart, for his vision was blurred by the extreme blood loss and the tears that flooded his eyes.

Elladan and Elrohir had entered the bathing room only moments after the Ranger had left, Legolas remembered. He could also recall vaguely that Glorfindel had fled the room once the twins arrived – presumably to find Estel. The abrupt alteration in who sat with him, pleading with him to remain awake, mattered little to the Wood-Elf, as long as it was not his beloved Ranger. Where the Adan or commander had gone was an issue requiring too much thought for the incapacitated laegel, and so he did not try to surmise what occurred around him, but merely accepted it out of necessity. Legolas was with his friends; though he could not feel their hands upon him, trying to both tend his injured body and comfort his wounded soul, he was glad they were with him.

The twin holding him in his arms waited by the bed while the other flipped back the bedclothes, exposing the crimson stain of liquid left there from the night before, when Legolas had employed less drastic methods to quell the scar’s hatred. “Blood here, too, Greenleaf?”

“It will take some poor servant days to clean this mess,” the Noldo holding him teased flippantly. Legolas did not reply and no response was expected of him. The ceiling moved overhead again and then the soft, familiar mattress of his bed was under him.

Despite their peculiar cheerfulness, Elladan and Elrohir were frightened. Legolas had known them for far too long not to see this from their demeanors, which were aghast at the amount of blood he had lost and bereaved at the mangled condition of his thigh. From their faces, he gleaned that his self-inflicted injuries were serious and that he might have caused himself irreparable damage if not a slow demise.

 _You cause your friends distress,_ the scar’s voice told him, though the mar itself was no longer.

Where the disdainful disfigurement had once lain on his thigh, there were only lengthy, deep gouges where he had torn the muscled flesh with his dagger. Legolas did not argue with the scar but listened idly to its reprimand, disregarding the twins’ worried banter as they tried to keep him conscious. Something pressed against his lips. Without thinking, the laegel parted his split and bruised lips, allowing the Noldo – whichever one it was he could still not tell – to pour something into his mouth. Automatically, he swallowed, trusting the twins implicitly in their care for him.

 _It is too soon,_ he told himself, scattering from his mind the image of Estel angered and hurt by his rejection of him.

With the Ranger’s presence, as had happened so often before, the loathing voice had quieted, but it spoke to him now, reminding him, _You push Estel away and away he will remain._

Legolas feared this to be true above all else. He lay on his bed thinking of this while the twins worked in tandem, one kindly removing his tattered trousers while the other fetched Estel's healing bag by the door, to prepare to stitch his broken skin back together, to stop the flow of his blood while telling him halfhearted jokes and reminiscences of their oft-shared childhood. The nightmare of the Ranger leaving him, of desiring him no longer, scared the Prince more than his father’s anger, more than the merchant’s lust, and more than his own death, though the Ranger desiring Legolas no longer would eventuate in his death, he knew.

Elladan and Elrohir did not make him feel. The commander, the twins, nor anyone else could force him from this numbness. Only Aragorn could extract him from his protective shell of embittered torpidity. This was, of course, the very reason the Ranger’s touch had come too soon, and why the laegel had avoided his lover. The numbness was his only defense, for without it, he could not keep his promise to remain with his lover or father. Legolas was confident that if Glorfindel had not arrived, if the commander had not forced the Ranger to leave, or if he could not escape the Ranger’s touch should Aragorn return – at least until he was strong enough to maintain this precarious effort not to feel. His grief would overcome him; he would die. It was a conundrum that the laegel did not know how to solve.

As he lay there under the twins' gentle hands piecing him back together, Legolas wanted the Ranger with him, even as he feared Aragorn's return.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From where it had soaked into the Ranger’s trousers, his lover’s blood chafed his legs as he ran. His besmirched boots left hideous, ruby prints in the ancient carpets as he sped over them and down the winding passage to the guest rooms. He noticed none of this.

Glorfindel shouted at him from behind, calling for him to stop, to wait. Knowing the elder would attempt to keep him from killing the merchant, the Ranger paid the commander no mind but ran faster to place as much distance as possible between he and any impediment to his task, the most likely of which would be Glorfindel. Several Wood-Elves peered through the doors to their quarters that opened upon the hallway, wakened from their reverie or startled out of their quiet time with family or loved ones. They stared out into the corridor to ascertain of what the yelling and commotion concerned, though their alarmed calls to him did not serve to slow the Ranger either, and onwards he flew.

Blinded by rage and coveting the merchant’s blood as recompense for that which was spilt of the Prince’s blood, the human’s step faltered only when he thought of Legolas as he had last seen him – weeping and afraid. _The twins will see that Legolas is well,_ he pacified his remorseful thoughts, while feeling guilty that he had left the Prince alone with his despair, even though the Wood-Elf had made clear that he did not desire the Ranger’s presence.

The proud Elf had been broken. Aragorn had always thought the Prince to be the strongest person he had ever met, especially after living through his encounters with the merchants and the constant torment of his father. However, as he rounded another curve in the hallway, hurrying his pace until the burn of his legs rivaled only that of his lungs, the Ranger realized, _Legolas has not prevailed. He has merely survived._

He flew into the hall where the guest rooms were situated. The dagger in his hand combined with his blood covered and wild-eyed appearance created a panic in the sentries guarding the merchant’s door. Nimrol stood before the merchant’s room with his fellow sentry Galendil, who had remained on duty after the others had dispersed to find the Prince.

“Estel,” a disturbed Nimrol implored, jogging towards Aragorn as he raced to them at a full run. When the Ranger’s pace did not slow, the sentry’s worry turned to discernment of the human’s purpose, and the Wood-Elf held his hands out as if to stop the human, saying, “No, Estel. You cannot go in.”

The worried sentry stepped in front of Estel to stop him; the Ranger did not hesitate to remove another obstacle from his path. Throwing his unarmed fist out, the Ranger felt it connect with the incredulous sentry’s jaw, effectively stopping Nimrol from tackling him to the ground by sending the Wood-Elf there instead. From his peripheral vision, he could see that Nimrol was infuriated at the human's brutal actions and was drawing his sword as he rose, intent on seeing through his responsibility to the King to keep the merchant protected. He could also see that Glorfindel had caught up with him and was barreling down the hallway, though he was not yet near close enough to hinder Aragorn from entering the room.

Unaware of what a frightening sight he made and uncaring at the moment that he had attacked the sentry without sufficient cause, the Ranger began running once again. Aragorn did not desire to hurt the Wood-Elves, or anyone save for Kane, but they would not stand in Estel’s way. Lucky for Estel, the Elf was alarmed at the Ranger’s appearance and was conscientious of hurting Elrond’s adopted son, else Nimrol would not have been so easily deterred.

“Sweet Eru, Estel,” Galendil whispered, watching Nimrol with disbelief, who stumbled as he rose from the carpet, dazed and rubbing his jaw with the hand not holding his sword. Galendil held his ground, moving to stand in front of the door with his sword drawn, though it hung limply at his side. “What has happened, Estel?” Galendil asked him. Turning away from the advancing Elves, Aragorn faced Galendil, prepared to remove the sentry with whatever means necessary, short of killing the Wood-Elf, to reach his quarry. “Is the Prince well?”

The bitter rage welled high within him again and the Ranger could not contain his violent motivation for much longer. “Legolas is not well,” he said quickly, raising his knife to point it at the closed door behind the Mirkwood sentinel. “Kane has hurt him again, Galendil. Now move.”

Surprisingly, the sentry followed the Ranger’s bidding. Sidestepping the advancing Ranger, Galendil moved away from the merchant’s door, allowing the Adan access and forgoing protecting Kane as he had been instructed to do. Aragorn strode to the portal, blessing the Valar under his breath for granting him this good fortune and blessing the sentry, as well, for his good judgment, and then twisted the knob, hoping he would not find it locked. It was not.

The human swung the door open before Nimrol or Glorfindel could reach him to employ physical means to detain him. _He will pay for his crimes against Legolas._ The low light of a candle on the desk flickered from the draft caused by the opening door, but the light from the torches in the hallway illumined the human laying atop the bed nonetheless. _He will never hurt him again._ Slowly, the Ranger walked forward until his knees bumped the frame at the end of the great bed, his fingers numb from their grip on the hilt of Legolas’ dagger. _I will tear him apart._

“Estel, by Ilúvatar,” Nimrol begged of him quietly as he came upon the Ranger from behind, approaching the human with more caution than he had his first attempt to stop Aragorn. When he entered the room behind the Adan, he took the Ranger’s pause at the foot of the bed as a sign that the human would listen, so did not bring down the Ranger where he stood. Whispering so as not to wake the merchant, Nimrol offered, “I wish you no harm, Estel, but we cannot let you near the merchant. If you leave now, none need ever know you were here.”

He turned his ferocious glare upon Nimrol, for he had heard the generous offer but was entirely unwilling to let the merchant out of his sight – at least, not while either he or Kane still drew breath. “Your Prince is bleeding to death in his rooms above and this beast is the cause of it. If you try to stop me,” he avowed in a rush of murderous sentiment, “I will kill you, also. Come no closer.”

Nimrol stepped backwards out of the doorway and into Galendil, and neither came closer as he pointed his knife at them. The dagger was small in comparison to their drawn swords, but it was not his weapon that stayed them from entering the room, nor his heartfelt threat. The ferocity on the Ranger’s face kept the two sentries at bay. Neither sentry could muster such anger to kill the human for his trespass, especially not after hearing from Estel that the merchant had indeed hurt their Prince, as they had earlier feared.

Aragorn jumped onto the bed where the merchant slept, his ire granting the Ranger more speed than he would normally possess at seeing that during the time he had searched for his lover, Kane had rested comfortably while Legolas had lain in a pool of his own blood far above them in the mountain palace.

However, arms grabbed Estel unexpectedly from behind, snaking over his biceps to keep the human from gaining any more ground on the sleeping merchant. Only one person had the audacity to contain the enraged Ranger, so great was his obsession to kill the human. Glorfindel embraced the Adan in a massive bear hug, gripping his hands together in front of the human’s body with his arms around and over Estel’s to keep him immobile. Yanking the Ranger from off the bed, the two nearly fell to the stone floor beside it as the human struggled to remove this new obstacle, who kept him from hewing Kane’s fingers from his hands, his hands from his arms, and his arms from his torso. This was merely the beginning of the torment that came to mind that he wished to see perpetrated, for the Ranger had many other appendages he would see dismembered from Kane’s body.

The dagger Aragorn held slipped out of his hands, the blood slicked hilt too slippery for him to hold as his arms were jerked to his body and his body jerked backwards. He heard the blade clatter to the stone floor but was unable to pick it up, much less eliminate the strong commander’s hold of him. The merchant, wakened by the noise, light, and movement on his bed, let loose a cry of alarm, his face slack with fear at finding the unknown Elves and a human in his room. Crawling from his bed quickly, the quivering and terrified merchant backed into the corner of the room and out of the Ranger’s reach.

“What did you say to him?” Aragorn screamed, wrestling against the elder Elf’s solid tenacity so that he could reach the vile merchant.

The merchant ventured pointlessly, straightening his clothing as he tried to regain his composure, and well knowing of whom the Ranger spoke, “Who?” Before allowing the Ranger to answer, however, Kane ordered of the sentries, his voice wavering with the depths of his apprehension at his current situation, “Find the King. I am sure he will wish to know of this.”

“Lord Glorfindel?” Three more sentries entered the room, making five altogether who lingered indecisively just inside the door. Kalin came to them, standing beside the commander and struggling Aragorn, and taking in the Ranger’s gruesome appearance. Kalin did not know whether to aid the commander with detaining the Ranger or not, and so repeated again in hesitance and confusion, “Lord Glorfindel?”

“Where is the King?” the merchant demanded of the unmoving sentries, for the human believed himself to be in the King’s high favor, and that the golden warrior was keeping the Ranger from killing him was evidence enough for the merchant that he was safe and would remain so. “Get him out of here! Why do you only stand there?”

“Nimrol, Galendil, go find Ninan and the King. Afterwards, you are relieved of duty for the night. The rest of you go back to your posts,” Kalin ordered, his hesitance gone as he spoke to his underlings. Whether intentionally or not, Kalin had just removed all witnesses to what might occur. Aragorn did not miss the curious, worried, and irate glares of the sentries as they departed, leaving only the commander, Kalin, and Kane in the room with the Ranger. “King Thranduil will be here soon enough,” Kalin told the merchant brusquely without looking at him as he shut the door to the merchant’s bedroom and locked it, before returning to his place beside the commander to ask him tonelessly, “What has happened, my Lord? Whose blood is this?”

Reluctantly, it seemed to Estel, the commander replied, “The Prince is injured and the merchant has had some part in it.” The commander wrenched the Ranger backwards again when the reminder of Legolas’ injuries urged his efforts to kill the gloating merchant. But the human would not have it. He bucked against his former teacher, butting the back of his head against Glorfindel’s face.

_I must kill Kane._

Although he grunted when the Ranger’s head hit his nose, the commander did not loosen his hold; instead, the elder Elf dropped down to his knees, taking Aragorn with him to the floor beside the bed. “Cease fighting, Estel,” Glorfindel asked of him. “Stop this imprudence. You do Legolas no good by this.”

 _I am tired of restraint. I am tired of words._ Feeling the arms holding him back tighten even more, Aragorn threw himself desperately forwards to break the elder Elf’s embrace.

“Your death will not be honorable. It will not be swift,” the Ranger swore without explaining why he would threaten the merchant, enjoying Kane’s sudden pallor as he cowered in the corner. He could smell the man’s fear, could see it in the human’s face, and never before had Aragorn desired so wantonly the death of another who was not of the Dark One. “I will hunt you down. I will find you no matter where you may flee. Your death will be worse than that of your squalid friends.”

The merchant swallowed thickly and ran his tongue over his lips, smoothing the errant tufts of grey-white hair on his head; and then Kane laughed, his chubby frame wavering on his short legs as his confidence returned. “King Thranduil would have your head should you so much as touch me,” the merchant intoned, bolstering his threat with a step towards the restrained Ranger as if to show Aragorn he was not afraid.

“It would be a small price to pay to see you dead.” Glorfindel’s hold of him became crushing as he tried relentlessly to break free. Had it not been for this, the Ranger would have leapt at the man and torn his throat with his bare hands – or his teeth. “I _will_ kill you, this I promise.”

His smile fading, the merchant’s fear threatened to return at Aragorn’s blithe statement. “You are the Ranger the King speaks so highly of?” the merchant mocked, adding, “Prince Legolas, the _whore,_ is yours, then?”

Resisting Glorfindel with every tensed muscle in his body, the callous manner in which the merchant dared to mock Legolas incited the Ranger to caution Kane, “Do not speak of him. Your mouth is not worthy to utter his name.”

Perhaps believing all in Mirkwood held the same opinion of their Prince as did their King, perhaps because of the King’s orders to keep him safe, or perhaps because the Ranger threatening him was well-restrained and outnumbered two to one by the Elves within the room, Kane chose to smile wickedly, taunting the Ranger with another step towards him. “That is odd, for the Princeling said the same of you, before he dropped to his knees and made his apologies.”

What the merchant intimated caused the Ranger’s burning blood to run cold, his struggles to stop as his mind became calm and only his rage remained. For the first time, Aragorn understood how it was that Legolas became so eerily still when enraged. It was not torrid fervor that fueled his yearning to kill the merchant now, but cold and calm hatred. The merchant would die soon, even if Estel had to kill himself trying.

Foolishly, Kane did not keep quiet, but explained snidely, “If it is coins you seek for the use of your whore, the King has supplied me with enough to pay for him, I am sure. Although, I must insist on a discount, since I made sure that he enjoyed himself, as well.”

“Watch your tongue, human, or I will let the Ranger have you,” Glorfindel chastened, not loosening his hold of Aragorn despite the fact that the Ranger had grown oddly quiescent.

Kane snorted, eyeing the commander and then Kalin with a malicious and shrewd smile. “You would not defy King Thranduil.” Taking yet another step towards the quietly kneeling Ranger where he was still restrained forcibly by the commander on the floor, Kane mocked them all, “Your Prince is a whore. He is nothing. He spread his legs for me willingly to keep Thranduil’s love of wine sated.” Sneering at the Ranger with his unmindful and drunken eyes, the merchant told Aragorn, leaning down to face Estel as he goaded him, “I can see why you have chosen him. He is beautiful and his skin is sweet. But he is very tight, so tight that fucking him tonight almost hurt. He was, however, very eager to please. I would offer to buy your whore from you, but I think I have had my fill of him. I can find you a buyer, perhaps. He has a talented mouth and –”

The arms holding him, Glorfindel’s arms, held Aragorn no more. He did not pause to ponder as to why the commander no longer held him back from the merchant. Aragorn would not suffer Kane to live any longer and thinking was not foremost on his agenda. Quickly grabbing the dagger from the floor where it had fallen, the Ranger leapt to his feet from his knees. He could not have hoped to evade the much faster sentry or commander’s attempt to restrain him, but no such attempt came.

Kane stumbled backwards in surprise at the Ranger’s sudden freedom, falling against the chair behind him and onto his back on the floor with a cry of alarm. Normally, the Ranger would not attack a defenseless enemy, especially one not of the Dark Lord’s making, for even in war and survival the human maintained a respect for life that many did not. Retribution, however, broke these moral barriers precluding him from fulfilling his desire to spill the man’s blood, and Kane, by the Ranger’s reckoning, had shown he had no respect for life when he had attacked the laegel not once but twice. With Legolas’ dagger in hand, the blade with which the Wood-Elf had hewn his own flesh open in an attempt to free himself of the very mar and hatred the merchant had bestowed upon him, Aragorn fell onto Kane.

“Get him off me!” The merchant writhed under Aragorn, his sweaty and bulging body more muscular than the Ranger had credited him for, and his attempt to throw the Adan from him nearly effective.

Without needing to contemplate his action, the Ranger rammed the blade into the merchant’s stomach to distract the human. He would not have the time to torment the merchant, but he would make sure to complete his one task. Kane’s massive belly would protect the merchant’s internal organs with its rotund mass of fat, but it would not keep the foul human from feeling the pain of being stabbed repeatedly, and hopefully would subdue the merchant long enough for Aragorn to see his undertaking completed. He drove the short blade into the man’s stomach again, making sure that he did not strike any vital areas of the merchant’s body. He wanted the merchant conscious for what he planned next, what he had planned since first he had heard of the laegel’s torment in Kane’s shop.

With the human cowed under him, begging unintelligibly for him to stop, Aragorn sliced through the lacings at Kane’s waist. The nearness of the knife to his genitals brought the human to greater heights of fear, and he began to scream gibberish at the sentry and commander, neither of whom made a sound or moved to help the human. Kane pawed at the Ranger’s searching hands, trying to dislodge his flaccid member from Estel’s grasp when the Ranger finally grabbed hold of it and placed the blade beneath its underside.

“You should not have touched him,” he told the merchant, leaning over Kane.

“I am sorry,” the merchant lied, holding his hands up to Aragorn, too afraid to move or fight, to plead with the Ranger, “do not do this. Let me live, show mercy.”

The Ranger snorted without humor, saying to the merchant in a wicked and taunting tone similar to that which the merchant had used with him earlier, “That is odd, merchant, for Cort said the same, before I drove my blade through him.” He slid the blade along the man’s shaft, both sickened and pleased by the terror in Kane’s eyes as the dagger cut the topmost flesh on the merchant’s sex. Quietly, the Ranger answered the merchant's question, telling him as he had told Cort, “You showed my friend no mercy, why would I show you any?”

No sweeter sound had he heard than the merchant’s screams of fear. No more pleasant sight had he seen than Kane contorting under him while he sawed free his fellow human’s offensive flesh, that which he had used to harm Legolas. Blood spurted onto the Ranger, covering his already befouled clothing. Kane had screamed himself hoarse and now no sound erupted from the human’s mouth except the wheeze of air as he tried to continue his terrified and pained shouts. Estel stood, dropping the hewn shaft to fall onto the merchant’s chest.

“You will not hurt him ever again.”

The sudden dissolution of his rage left him bereft of guidance for his actions, and spent, he turned to the door, to leave, to return to Legolas. Aragorn stumbled under the weight of the fury he saw in the eyes of the Wood-Elf and commander standing in the room afore him. For a brief moment, the Ranger thought their ire for him, but neither looked to him. They looked at the merchant, watching the human writhe and bleed on the floor. Neither had tried to stop him, not after hearing Kane’s admission of how he had abused the Prince again tonight.

“Open this door!”

Knocking came at the door so loudly that it sounded as if the King was using a battering ram and not his fist to beat against it. Startling, Kalin jumped several inches into the air, the incensed frown on his face fleeing in an instant. Immediately, the sentry crossed the room to unlock the door and allow his King within. Sparing the commander a brief glance, Aragorn saw with some regret that Glorfindel's nose was trickling blood, but the commander returned Estel's gaze with sadness... and understanding.

It was useless to deny his actions and nor did the Ranger wish to do so. He was not proud of his performance for the Elves around him, but nor did he regret it. Thus, when a freshly woken Thranduil entered the room with his head sentry Ninan, the King reeking of wine and his robe not tied, his hair mussed and loose from its braids, Estel was prepared for what the King would say. He knew what consequences his actions would bring, and was more than happy to pay them.

His eyes settling on the carnage in the corner, Thranduil paled and Aragorn said nothing in his defense.

Thranduil stared at the sputtering and hemorrhaging Kane and then back to Aragorn, asking softly, “You dare to defy me in my own home?” Casting another cold glare at the shaking merchant, obviously more affected by Aragorn’s defiance of him than the merchant’s fate, the King lifted one skeletal finger to point at the human, ordering Ninan, “Take him to the dungeons.”


	46. Chapter 46

The twins had run out of thread for their needles long before the Prince ran out of wounds needing stitching, but both Elladan and Elrohir loathed leaving Legolas alone to retrieve more, even if he would be with the twin who remained. Therefore, the Noldor settled for wrapping tightly with strips of linen the less serious gouges on the laegel’s thigh, and now washed his legs, cleaning him of the blood and spent seed there. If they noticed the evidence of his most recent shame, they did not speak of it. They said nothing of the new bruises and cuts on his body, nor did they speak between themselves except to give instruction. The twin brothers only wept.

Pulling the blanket up over Legolas’ legs, one of the twins began to wash his arms clean while the other obtained more water in the washbasin. “Find him something for the pain, too,” one of the Noldor asked of the twin fetching the water.

Shaking his head in negation because he found he could not yet talk, Legolas preempted the Noldo’s effort to make him a brew to kill the throbbing of his thigh. He could not feel the pain, anyway, and one of the twins’ concoctions would only put him to sleep. The Noldo frowned thoughtfully at Legolas but did not push the matter and called to his brother, “Never mind. Just bring the water, then.” The Noldo swiped at the laegel’s blood-inundated hair in a vain attempt to clean it, but soon gave up, instead using the cloth to wash Legolas’ face free of the blood there.

One twin crawled onto the bed beside the Wood-Elf, leaving the other to finish wiping clean the blood from the rest of the laegel’s body; Legolas was sure it was Elrohir who moved to lay beside him because the younger twin sobbed unabashedly, something that Legolas had never seen Elladan do – at least, not since Lady Celebrian had sailed.

The odd detail of deciphering the twins by the way they cried caused the Prince to sigh. _I am tired of seeing them upset. I would that we had never met, if only to save them the pain of knowing me now._ He could feel the twin’s tears dropping onto his shoulder when Elrohir moved closer to him, pressing his cheek to the laegel’s cheek as he stretched himself out on the bed, lying on his side beside the Wood-Elf whom he and his twin considered as much their brother as Aragorn.

Elrohir kissed the Prince’s cheek with fraternal, gentle affection and then laid his head on the pillow beside the immobile Legolas' head, facing the Wood-Elf’s ear. “Why, Greenleaf? Do you value your life so little that you wished to die?”

Legolas drew his thoughts together. It was becoming increasingly harder to focus on the bedroom around him, his blurred vision pained his head, and a soft buzzing in his ears hindered his ability to hear the twins. He licked his lips, his mouth feeling suddenly very dry. _Tell them you are mad. Tell them you tried to kill yourself. Or tell them that you did it to be free. It matters not what you say. Their conclusions will be the same – you are crazy._ Unknowingly, the Prince’s hand drifted to his injured thigh to fumble with the cloth bandaging there, not out of any attempt to quiet the scar, but to assure himself that the scar was gone and that it was indeed himself that spoke these condemnations.

However, his wrist was captured. “Enough,” Elladan demanded, holding the Prince’s arm away from his thigh. “How did this happen, Greenleaf? What happened with the merchant?”

He felt his lids slip over his tired eyes, his fearful desire to remain awake, to await Aragorn’s return, was waning. _They deserve an explanation._

The hand Elladan held was soon being washed, also, and the twin squeezed his limb gently, saying, “You will confide in Estel, if not us, will you not? Please do not suffer alone, Greenleaf.”

 _They must feel that I do not trust them._ The hitching breathing of the sobbing twin lying next to him forced the Prince into breaking his silence. “I am not alone,” he told them with a poignant smile and a voice that cracked with agony. “I have my two brothers with me.”

“Then let us help you, brother,” Elrohir murmured into the laegel’s ear, stroking Legolas’ face on the side opposite of where he huddled against the Prince. “Do not fade from this grief. We are here with you. Do not leave us.”

Legolas’ chest seized at the twin’s words; he made the same pledge to them as he had made to Aragorn and his father. “I will not leave you. I promise.” He opened his eyes to see one reassured Elladan, and Elrohir’s equally relieved sigh sounded in his ear.

“We would not let you leave us,” the elder twin claimed, tossing aside the soiled cloth with which he had been cleaning the Prince’s body to grab the chair across the way. Placing the seat next to the head of the bed, Elladan plopped ungracefully into it and leant forward, resting his head on the pillow beside the Prince’s, such that the Wood-Elf had a crying Noldo's head on either side of his upon the pillow. He grabbed Legolas’ hand once again. “You know that we will follow you wherever you go, Greenleaf. You cannot stir up trouble in the Halls of Waiting without us.”

Air blew into his ear as the younger twin snorted noisily between his tears, “Or Valinor for that matter. It will be no fun without you.”

Although he knew the twins were teasing him, thoughts such as these only burdened his mind further. He did not want the twins suggesting that they would follow him in his death to the Halls of Waiting – especially since he was sure he would not live should the Ranger die. Providentially, his absence of emotion kept his already fraught soul from wallowing in this new grief, and he tried to tease them in return, “The Valar will have a difficult time keeping the two of you in line without me there to mediate.”

Elrohir sat up abruptly, rolling Legolas slightly closer to him as his weight shifted the mattress. “It will be a challenge, but if anyone could keep my wayward twin in order, it would be one of the Valar.”

“Your wayward twin?” Snorting, Elladan laid his hand across the laegel’s chest, above the Prince's heart, letting it rest there while he retorted, “I dare say that the Valar will send you sailing back within a fortnight!”

Their bickering was a ruse; the twins were putting on a masquerade to hide their fear for him, and perhaps to distract him, but they did not have the heart for it, and Elrohir finally asked of the Prince, “The merchant did not cut your thigh. You did this?” Legolas nodded. “Why, Greenleaf? We know that the scar speaks to you, but why this?”

Suddenly, the Prince was not certain of his reasoning behind his actions. Yes, he had tried to quiet the scar, and yes, he had wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, but underlying these actions was something more obvious.

_You are a coward._

“I am a coward,” he whispered, and then told them what had happened that night with Kane and what he knew of the scar.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kane had rolled to his side, both his hands shoved to his bleeding groin. The merchant maintained consciousness but he trembled, his breathing coming more slowly with each passing second as his hewn flesh bled freely. After the King’s proclamation to have the Ranger removed to the dungeons, none had moved in the bedroom, not to help the merchant and not to take Aragorn from the room. He watched Kane. The merchant was falling into shock, his blood loss depriving the human’s body of the means to carry the air from his lungs to his extremities. If they acted quickly, the merchant could possibly be saved. Kane would be forever scarred and still might die from infection or complications from the severe trauma the Ranger had inflicted upon him, but with a good healer, the human might still live.

 _I think I like the idea of his living the rest of his life without the use of his manhood,_ Estel thought with a vapid smile. However, he had no intention of aiding the merchant and from the hesitance of the others, neither did they.

Thranduil was staring at Aragorn expectantly, his mouth set in a thin line of distaste and hatred the likes of which the Ranger had seen grace the sovereign’s face many times, though usually Thranduil reserved such loathing for his son. The King blinked rapidly a few times as if in disbelief, and then stepped forward, sweeping his arm out at the sentries standing to his side. “Must I repeat myself? Take him to the dungeons.”

“Your Majesty,” Kalin began, moving to stand in front of Aragorn and before the King, “I know that the Ranger has disregarded your edict, but not unreasonably so. The merchant has injured the Prince and Estel sought retribution for the harm Kane has done.”

“Make no excuses for him,” the King railed in a booming voice, but it faltered, his anger slipping but not falling from his face as he inquired, his brow knitted with what the Ranger hoped was concern, “Legolas is injured?”

“He is in dire condition, King Thranduil.” Glorfindel stepped before the Adan also, indicating the red staining the Ranger’s clothing by pointing in Estel’s direction as he explained, “Most of this blood is Legolas’. Kane has admitted to defiling your son tonight, Thranduil. And this is not the first time he has suffered defilement at this merchant’s hands.”

Crossing his arms over his bared chest, the King became ghostly white, all anger draining from his face. “I do not believe you. Legolas would not allow such a thing to happen.” Thranduil stumbled to the merchant, glaring down at the man without pity. A guarded and angered visage crept over the King’s face once more as he stated rancorously, “Legolas takes humans as his lovers.” He looked pointedly at Aragorn, claiming, “The Ranger is merely jealous. He has killed his own kind twice already for the same reason.”

Estel surprised even himself when he pushed his way between Kalin and Glorfindel, shoving them to the side to reach the King, who merely stared at him as if not believing the Ranger would argue with him. However, Aragorn had heard enough of the King’s ridicule of Legolas. “You are right,” he hissed into the King’s face, not touching the resolute elder Elf before him. “I have killed Kane for the same reason, yes. And I would kill gladly any who dared to harm Legolas as Kane has.” Aragorn did not fight Ninan when the sentry pushed him away from the King, nor did he ram his fist into Thranduil’s smirking face though he much wanted to, as he knew that the captain would slay him on the spot for attacking his King.

“I do not believe you.” His oddly emotionless countenance turned to Ninan, Thranduil ordered, “Take the Ranger to a cell. I will decide what to do with him later.”

“Do not send him to the dungeons, Thranduil. Legolas needs him.” Glorfindel stood before the Ranger again, and Estel, too exhausted both emotionally and physically to quarrel for his behalf on his own, thanked Ilúvatar that the commander was here to play a diplomatic role in what he had decidedly made a complicated mess. “Do you want your son to die, Thranduil?”

The blunt question caused the King to blush, and the Ranger knew what the King was thinking, for he had heard Legolas’ account of his father’s feelings on this matter before. Therefore, Aragorn answered for Thranduil, accusing the King, “You wished that he would die. Legolas told us.”

Thranduil appeared livid, his blush becoming more pronounced as his embarrassment became anger. However, the King had no chance to refute the Ranger’s accusation, for the merchant lying on the floor, nearly forgotten by the man and Elves in the room, suddenly spoke up, saying, “Is that why you sent him to me?” All in the room turned to the hoarse and faint sound of Kane’s laughter. “Did you want your son to die when you sent him to me?” Kane coughed harshly and moaned but began laughing again. Sure that he would die and wishing to inflict whatever damage he could to those who were responsible for his demise, the merchant told Thranduil, “You said he would give me whatever I asked for. His apologies were most pleasurable, your Majesty,” he sneered, not once bothering to look at the Elves or Ranger who listened to him, but remaining on his side on the floor, his hands groping his hemorrhaging groin.

The Ranger stepped forward, every spent emotion of fear, hatred, and revulsion he had counted on to maim the merchant came back to him now. _I will keep him alive,_ he mused, _if only so that I can torment him more later._

The familiar feel of the commander’s grip in the back of his shirt halted the Ranger from approaching the merchant, and instead, Thranduil walked to the human, standing over him with a foot placed on either side of the man’s torso. Grimacing, the King kicked away the man’s mutilated shaft when he stepped on it, but the revolting sight did not keep him from grabbing Kane by his shirtfront, pulling the man upwards from the floor such that the merchant was forced to face him. The hem of the King’s robe slipped into the splatter of blood on the floor; the crimson liquid blossomed up the fabric slowly, dying the edge of the wine-colored cloth a darker shade of red.

Giggling deliriously, the human kept talking, not at all concerned at the King’s anger or that Thranduil towered over him. “He didn’t want to apologize,” the injured human said, “but he didn’t want to make you angry. From the bruises on him, I’d say you stay angry with him.” The King’s hold of the merchant’s shirt tightened but Thranduil did not speak. The two sentries, commander, and Ranger watched unmoving as the merchant taunted the King with his rape of the Prince. “I thought he was the Ranger’s whore,” Kane said, laughing, his bloodied hands finding their way to hold the King’s wrists as they held onto his shirt. “But he’s your whore, Thranduil. You sent him to me to pacify relations with Lake-town. You sent your son to me to fuck so that you could keep your wine.”

With the thud of Thranduil’s fist hitting the merchant’s face, the human closed his eyes and let his head loll back. Moaning softly, Kane added, “This time was not as enjoyable as the last.” Although Aragorn could not see the King’s face, he assumed that Thranduil was appalled at the merchant’s suggestion that Kane had used Legolas before, for the merchant laughed spitefully. “The whore didn’t tell you of the first time, I know. When Sven, Cort, and I broke him in? I only wish I had been in the woods with them for their second go round. It would have been a wonderful show.”

Still without speaking, the King slammed the merchant against the floor by his hold on the human’s shirt. Repeatedly, the King flung the laughing man’s head against the stone, the merchant’s skull cracking open in a gruesome fashion until the man’s white hair was white no longer, and ruby blood dripped freely from Kane’s head. When the merchant’s eyes had closed and his manic laughter ceased, Thranduil finally let go of the human’s shirt, allowing the inert body to drop to the carpet. Rising, Thranduil looked down at the merchant, and even though it had been the King and not he that had beaten Kane, Estel found his satisfaction with the merchant’s eventual demise to be much greater than before at the sight of the human’s blood spilt even more.

Thranduil swung one leg over the prone body, staggering away from Kane and to his head guard. “Take me to Legolas, Ninan,” the King said, his head hung low, his unkempt hair hanging over his face, hiding whatever emotion might be found there. The Ranger hoped it was not anger for the Prince. “Where is my son?”

“He is in his rooms, Thranduil. Elladan and Elrohir are with him, treating his wounds, which are severe,” the commander of Imladris explained, casting a sidelong glance at Aragorn, who was not at all pleased to think of the King visiting Legolas in his current condition.

 _Thranduil will kill him,_ the Ranger thought, waiting only for the King to leave before he ran to the Prince's bedrooms himself – that is, if he were not soon imprisoned.

Ninan opened the chamber door for his King, glancing about the room. The sentry was in shock. He had not the understanding of what had happened to his Prince, nor did he fully understand what had just occurred, but with his duty foremost in his mind, he asked, “What of the merchant, King Thranduil?’

Thranduil eyed the merchant, who lived but not for much longer. “Throw him into the woods by Lake-town. Let the buzzards have him and let it be known that any assault on a Mirkwood Elf carries such a price.”

The King turned to leave but Kalin called to him, “And what of Estel, your Majesty?”

Thranduil paused in his walking out of the room but did not turn back to face them. “He has taken advantage of my son in his state of need,” Thranduil accused without conviction, “and he has harmed a human in my care. He has disregarded my orders and has acted treasonously in my home.” Aragorn knew what the King would say before he said it. It was what he expected. “Put him in the dungeons.”

The King left without further instruction, leaving Aragorn, Glorfindel, and Kalin standing in the dying merchant’s bedroom. The Ranger’s first thoughts were for the Prince and so he asked of the commander, “Will you see to it that Elladan or Elrohir stays with Greenleaf while Thranduil is there?”

The commander was staring at the merchant in the corner. The human would die. Thranduil’s wrathful battering had only served to render Kane unconscious, and thus put him out of his misery as he bled to death, but Kane had lost too much blood to live much longer even should they try to save him. “Glorfindel?”

“Do not worry, Estel. Your brothers will keep Legolas company and see that his wounds are tended,” the elder Elf assured him, not yet looking away from the dying merchant.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers, only to find that he smeared the blood there onto his hands instead of cleaning them. _This is Legolas’ blood,_ he thought, closing his eyes but still seeing the image of the laegel lying in his bathtub, seemingly dead. _If we had not found him, he could have bled to death as the merchant now does. If Galendil had not found us, we would never have known to look for Greenleaf._

The Ranger sat on the bed, letting his head fall into his bloodstained hands, but then he stood before he had even settled, thinking to himself, _Is this where Kane debased Legolas?_ He had not the senses of the Firstborn, he could not smell the scent of the debauchery that had taken place in the room where he stood, nor could he perceive the violent emotions still lingering. He did not need such sensitive devices to know that his lover had suffered here, in the finest room Mirkwood’s King had to offer. _In the dungeons I will be of no aid to Legolas,_ the Ranger lamented. _Elladan and Elrohir will need to maintain diplomacy. They cannot protect him._

With this foremost on his mind, he beseeched the Imladrian commander, “Will you go to them, Glorfindel? Thranduil will not harm Legolas if you are there – of this, I am certain.”

Glorfindel nodded, taking a few steps to the door before turning back to Kalin and Estel. The commander looked indecisive; it was not often that Aragorn saw the proud and indomitable Elf appear anything but sure of his actions. Frowning, the commander looked back to the door and then to the Ranger and sentry, asking Kalin, “Estel will be safe in the dungeons?”

“He would be, yes, but I am not taking him there.” The sentry shook his head, his eyes narrowed and his blond hair shaking around his face as he declared vehemently to the Ranger before he could argue, also, “I am not taking you to the dungeons. If you wish to go there, you will have to take yourself.”

“There is no reason to anger the King further, Kalin,” Glorfindel told the sentry, taking another step to the door before he paused, shooting both the sentry and Ranger a worried, puzzled grimace. The commander pointed at Aragorn, warning him, “You have already threatened relations between Imladris and Eryn Galen. Do nothing to rouse the King’s anger further, and perhaps you will leave with your life, Estel.”

Aragorn nodded his acquiescence, but then begged the commander as he promised, “I will behave, if you go to Legolas. Please. If Thranduil has his way, Greenleaf will die to keep his father’s sense of duty and decorum intact.”

With a curt nod, the commander was gone, running from the room with as much haste as he had used to reach it. And suddenly, the Ranger was alone with Kalin, who reiterated to the human, pleading with Estel to follow his advice, “Leave, Estel. Do not stay here to accept this punishment. You can be gone before any know I am to take you to the dungeons.”

Not bothering to consider the offer, the Ranger told the sentry, “I am not leaving Legolas alone in Mirkwood.” The sentry obviously wished to argue, but he snuffed the candle on the desk, leaving the unconscious, dying merchant and the room without light as he followed the Ranger from it.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas had told the twins all he knew, all he had done, all the scar had said to him, and all his thoughts of what it meant. He had disclosed more information to the twins than he had yet the chance to tell Aragorn. Sitting back against the many pillows Elladan had placed behind him, the Prince watched the twins thinking, at ready to tell them the very things they were deciding for themselves. _It seems even they, given all the information I have held this whole time, could have deciphered this malady. My mind has been clouded these last months, my thinking dulled and my attention only on what others would think of me, rather than my recuperation._

The younger twin and his elder brother were staring at each other – Legolas knew of Elves that could speak with their minds, the words resounding through the other’s thinking as clearly as if it had been said aloud. But the twins, by their own admission, did not employ such methods, and nor did either of them seem to move so much as an eyelash or twitch a lip to indicate to his other half his thinking. Elladan and Elrohir, though different in temperament and speech, were coalescent in thought. The Prince could see the flicker of understanding as it lit in tandem in the verdigris eyes of each – the same shade of bright green as their father. The two brothers’ eyes held no less acuity than did their father's similar orbs, though perhaps they were not as wise just yet. In this matter, however, the twins had interpreted the entire events of the last few months as the Lord of Imladris could not, though they had yet to share their thoughts. Legolas waited for their verdict, for their solution to his malady.

“Then we were correct from the start, brother,” Elrohir finally concluded with a dissatisfied sigh.

Before he could ask the twins of what they spoke, an insistent rapping on his door garnered his slowly declining attention. The two Noldorin twins both jumped up at the same time, though it was Elrohir who swept the blanket up Legolas’ nude form, knowing that the Prince would likely not be comfortable in the presence of any but them, their father, or Aragorn in such a state. Elladan, meanwhile, rubbed the sleeve of his tunic across his tear-wetted face as he hurried to the door to see who knocked.

 _Ada,_ the Elf portended, feeling something other than numbness for the first time since Aragorn had fled the room, though he now only felt the vague traces of fear of what his father would want from him. _Someone has told him_.

Ere the elder twin could call out or open the door, it was opened, and the fair head of the captain of the Mirkwood guards appeared in the crack between the frame and wood door. Ninan was paler than the whitewashed walls and from the glazed over appearance of the sentry’s face, Legolas could detect that Ninan was disconcerted.

“His Majesty requests a meeting, Prince Legolas,” the sentry said, coming to stand just within the room. “He wants to meet with you in the sitting room down the hallway.” Glancing at the Noldor, Ninan added, “Alone.”

Finding it odd that the sentry asked his permission for the King to meet down the hall, when normally his father would burst into his bedroom shouting and swinging his fists, Legolas remained quiet, for he did not know how to respond to such a request. The twins knew just how to answer, however, and Elladan told the sentry, “Tell the King that Legolas is in no condition to leave his bed. He should come here to speak with him.”

Standing in front of the sentry beside his brother as if to bar Ninan from taking the Prince, Elrohir added with less tact than his twin, “And we’ve no intention of letting Thranduil see Legolas without us present. He has endured enough insult and injury for one night.”

Legolas swung his legs off the bed, moaning despite his attempt to swallow the soft sound of pain when his throbbing head seemed to swivel about on his neck, tilting his view of the candlelit room. Immediately, a twin was at his side, sitting on the bed beside him, but again he could not determine which of the two it was who held his shoulders to keep him from falling forward in his vertigo.

“I will see him, Ninan,” he told the captain.

“No, Greenleaf,” the twin objected, holding Legolas down when he tried to rise. “No more of this.”

 _I need to find clothing,_ he thought, looking about him for something to wear to meet his father.

“I have to do this, Elladan,” he chanced, not knowing whether he was speaking to Elladan or not. “If I do not go, he will only come here, and he will only be angered more.”

He must have used the right name, for the Noldo did not correct him, but argued instead, “Then we will go with you.”

“I suggest you go to your brother,” Ninan told the twins, noting his Prince’s dilemma and picking up a robe and leggings from among the clothing still strewn about the room from Legolas’ earlier search for the dagger. He came to stand before the laegel. “Estel has killed the merchant.”

With a grim frown of pity for Legolas, the sentry, not certain of how he should behave around the ravished laegel, handed his Prince the clothing he had collected. Ninan’s hands fluttered in the air over the Prince for a moment. The sentry grabbed the robe out of the Prince's arms and swept it over Legolas’ shoulders when the younger Elf only continued to stare at him in shock.

_He has killed Kane?_

Legolas let his father’s most trusted sentry secure the robe around him, not sure his voice could say aloud his turbulent thoughts or question Ninan. Although he had noticed the Ranger and commander’s absence, the laegel had not considered that Estel had left for any reason other than being upset with Legolas for recoiling from him. Now, learning that the Ranger had killed the merchant and had sentenced himself to the King’s punishment to rid the Prince of the last of his tormentors, his worst fear had suddenly come true. The Ranger had not left the Prince willingly but the result would be the same. Already Legolas could feel the numbness overwhelming him, drowning him in its cold comfort. Well aware that even should the human be with him that he could not let the Ranger near him for fear of being overwhelmed by his despair instead, the laegel gave little thought to his own health except in that he wished to keep his promise to the Ranger, his father, and now the twins to survive.

_Ada will accuse Estel of treason. He has disobeyed Ada’s edict. I must convince Ada to pardon Estel or to punish me instead._

“But Glorfindel was with Estel. He would not allow Estel to kill the merchant,” the elder twin whispered, horrified to find that the Ranger was accused of murder. Elladan turned to his twin, who appeared as dismayed as he did and sat on the bed beside his elder brother.

Clearing his throat noisily, the sentry spoke up, “Kalin has been ordered to take him to the dungeons. That is where you will find him, I am sure.”

“You go with Legolas, Elrohir. I will find Estel and Glorfindel,” the elder twin told his brother, already standing and striding to the door.

The younger twin nodded to Elladan before tossing aside the leggings and telling Ninan, “He cannot wear them. They would disturb his injuries.”

_In the dungeons. Ada has sent my Estel to the dungeons._

“I cannot let you come with us, Lord Elrohir,” the sentry told the younger twin, watching Elladan’s retreating back as he ran down the hallway towards the lower levels.

Elrohir parted the folds of the Prince’s robe to check the bandaging covering Legolas’ thigh. “And I cannot, as a healer, let Greenleaf go anywhere that he will not have sufficient care.”

Exhaling a long, worried breath, the sentry finally conceded. “I would not have him alone with Thranduil either, but if he tells me to cast you out, I will.” Ninan helped Elrohir to gather the numbed and stunned Prince up from the bed. “Come, Prince Legolas,” Ninan implored, “let us not keep King Thranduil waiting. We need no more bloodshed tonight.”


	47. Chapter 47

The sentry and twin stood on either side of him, their arms looped under his. Unable to use his legs and too weak to be of much help to the two Elves escorting him to the sitting room, Legolas kept his head down and watched the carpet under his feet. _What is this?_ Interspersed in wide, flagrant spatters of bright, sanguine liquid were footprints along the priceless rugs. _These are Estel’s footprints,_ the laegel thought with a vacant smile, noting the distance between each print was spacious, for the gait of the one running had been long. _It is not without reason that some call him Strider._

“You are much too injured to see your father,” Elrohir complained, taking all of Legolas’ weight, as slight as that was, in his arms while Ninan walked ahead to open the sitting room door. Leaning in to the Wood-Elf, Elrohir added, “If he hits you, Legolas…”

“He will not,” Ninan swore in a whisper, his hand on the knob though he did not yet open the portal. “I will be here with you, also, my Prince.”

Although he could understand the scar, not all questions were answered, and though the scar was quiet, he could still feel its hatred. _I would that they were not here,_ he told himself, allowing the Noldo and sentry to carry him between them into the sitting room. The agony of his injuries was so great that he could not see clearly, much less walk, and the numbness he was trying hard to maintain was uncertain – it was leaving him and his grief was coming back from having to confront his father. He was thankful for the Noldo and sentry's words, however.

The room, unused for more years than Legolas could remember, was filled with motes of dust and cobwebs. The furniture was covered in long, white cloths and the airshafts above obstructed by debris from the mountainside. Coughing the stale and musty air of the room from his lungs, the laegel noticed the room’s appearance only because he sought his father within the darkened chamber. He found the King standing before the fireplace, peering into the ashes of the hearth where no fire was lit and no light emanated.

The Noldo and Silvan guard stopped the Prince from falling to his knees to the floor before his King, which he tried to do out of habit. Ninan and Elrohir dragged Legolas to the cloth covered couch by the empty and fireless hearth, depositing him there, instead. For a moment, the room remained in a hush while the younger twin rearranged the laegel’s limbs into some semblance of comfort, pulling his long robe around him to keep his flesh covered from the chill in the cool sitting room. When done, Elrohir sat in the chair beside the couch, twisting in it to face the silent King. Thranduil turned to face the Noldo and sentry, giving them each an unreadable and long glare before his gaze settled on Legolas.

Despite his order to have none else but Legolas here, Thranduil did not protest the Noldo’s presence, and even should he have, the Prince knew that Elrohir would not leave short of being dragged from the room by Ninan – Thranduil had already imprisoned one of Elrond’s sons, he would not chance conflict by imprisoning another. Instead, the King merely stared at Legolas, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the Prince’s blood-soaked hair, for the Noldor had not had the time or the ability yet to wash it.

Without knocking, Glorfindel opened the door, a fierce and disturbed frown on his face, but seeing that all was well, the commander merely seated himself on the arm of the twin’s chair, his usually imperturbable appearance clouded with anger, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. _We are all here, then,_ the Prince thought, returning his attention to his father.

“The Ranger has murdered Kane,” the King told them, leaning his back against the mantel of the large fireplace for support. “The Ranger says that Kane has harmed you tonight, Legolas. He claims this is why he killed the merchant.” Legolas and Elrohir remained quiet, as they were unaware of Kane’s admission to the King of his foul crimes against the Prince, and Ninan and Glorfindel, who remained quiet out of respect for the King, said nothing to the contrary. “What happened, Legolas? The Ranger claims you were raped by Kane, but you sit before me now, still breathing.” The King began to pace before the dead fireplace, making tight circles in front of it and not looking to Legolas as he waited for his answer.

His father was angry, this much was clear, but the familiar hatred in the King’s eyes was absent. Legolas was not foolish enough to hope that Thranduil believed Aragorn’s story, nor did he have any hope that the King would believe him if he told him now. He was not one to lie, however, and though the Prince knew that telling the King of this would not help his situation, he told his father anyway, “The merchant did not rape me, Ada. I let him use me.”

Thranduil stopped his pacing. “What?”

Across the way, Elrohir cleared his throat to gain their attention in arguing against Legolas’ declaration. “That is not so. Tell him –”

To end the Noldo’s allusion to his marred thigh and its influence over him, Legolas interrupted with a whisper, “I was aware of what I was doing." He studied the long robe that lay over his legs. The blood from his many wounds was staining the fabric, seeping brightly through the thick material. “Kane did not take me by force.”

While he rubbed his head with his hand, the King came to the couch to sit beside the laegel. Thranduil shifted to face his son, took one of the Prince’s hands tightly in his, and asked with disbelief, “You laid with him willingly?”

He could not answer yes, for he had not desired the merchant, but nor could he tell his King no, because he had not fought against Kane. He told Thranduil what had happened, letting his father judge him, as he knew the King would regardless, “The merchant told me that my apology was not enough.” Legolas remembered the very words Kane had said to him and repeated them to his father, though he feared the King would use them against him. “Kane said that he required more from my pretty lips than just apologies. He told me he would pay gold to Estel for me, because you told him I was the Ranger’s whore,” the laegel said in quiet shame, the memory of what had occurred only hours ago too much for him. He leant forward, curling into himself with the return of his pain, and feeling the numbness leaching from his body as he recalled the events. “And when I would not give it to him, when I pushed him to the ground, he threatened to tell you that I had assaulted him. Kane reminded me that I had promised you to give him whatever he desired.” Legolas looked to his father, daring to see the ever-present hatred in his King’s gaze, but Thranduil had turned away; the Prince bowed his head again. “I am sorry, Ada.”

The sentry, commander, and Noldo were blessedly silent and watched the interaction with trepidation, waiting for Thranduil to lose his temper. Placing a hand on either shoulder of the Prince’s shaking and injured body, the King asked, “What happened before? Why did you let the other merchants take you?”

The King seemed unable to comprehend how Legolas would let the merchants abuse him while he had breath yet in his lungs. “To save Estel,” he replied, repeating the same reasoning he had given his father the first time, a few nights ago, when his father had asked him much the same question.

“Not then, Legolas,” the King corrected, not releasing his hold of the laegel’s shoulders, “the first time. Why did you let them abuse you the first time? Why did you not tell me? When did this occur?”

The Prince could not have imagined feeling anymore ashamed than he already did, but now, hearing that his father knew of the incident in Lake-town, when Kane, Sven, and Cort had taken his innocence with their cruelty, the laegel burned with humiliation. “In Lake-town, shortly before the winter festival,” he admitted. As he begged his father to understand, he bent his head down, wishing he were on his knees on the floor instead of sitting on the couch. “I am sorry. I did not want to disgrace you by telling you.”

“Disgrace me? You submitting to the merchants disgraces me, Legolas. Why did you submit to them? Where were your sentries when this occurred? Why did they not tell me?”

The King’s grip had become tighter, he shook the Prince by his shoulders with each question until Glorfindel grunted softly from across the way, and though he could not see the commander, he knew the elder Elf was reminding the King to mind himself.

Quickly, Legolas explained, “The sentries did not know, Ada. I told them to remain at the edge of the woods while I went within Lake-town. It is not their fault.” Forcing himself to look at the King when he only wished to close his eyes against the memory of that day in the human settlement, Legolas told Thranduil, “I did not believe they would attack me, Ada. The merchants took me off guard. Kane told me he was a wine trader. I thought only to leave without conflict, to protect Mirkwood’s trade interests.”

Removing his hands from the Prince’s shoulders, the King’s sharp inhale of breath was followed by a withered exhale. “Do you think I love wine more than you, Legolas?"

The Prince was confused. He had expected his father’s anger and blame, not this reserved and quiet conversation. Moreover, he did not know how to answer the King’s question, for he did indeed believe that the King loved his wine more than he loved his son. _He loves Orcs more than me,_ the Prince told himself, his mouth moving to answer but unsure how to proceed. His father’s anger he could handle, but this he did not know how to respond to at all.

Thranduil rubbed his hands together before him. Legolas looked at their awkward motion, seeing that the King’s sleeves were stained with blood. “When the sentries returned with your long knife and tunic,” the King replied, settling wearily into the deep cushions of the couch beside the Prince, “I was certain you would be finding your way back to Eryn Galen. But you did not come back.” The King stared into the empty fireplace, looking away from his audience, and saying, “They concluded you had been attacked, Legolas. They knew it was your blood on the merchants, and with your knife unstained with the merchants’ blood, and upon hearing the manner in which they had been slain, I knew it had not been you who killed them. I knew that you were hurt. I feared for your life.”

“I worried for you, my son. You are like your mother. Her faer was not bound to this world; she longed to be free of it even before she suffered. I feared you would flee, that you would let your grief take you and I would not reach you in time to be with you when it happened. But you did not come home,” the King repeated, this time more forcefully, with more anger, and the laegel tensed instinctively for his father’s coming attack. “You went to Imladris, where you always run to when you are in trouble, when you despair, when you should need your family. You ran to Elrond.”

Flinching as his father laid a hand on his leg absently, unwittingly over his excruciating thigh wound, Legolas tried to explain to his King, “I was unconscious, Ada. It was not until I was on the mountains that I was aware of where we were going. Estel decided we should go to Imladris for Lord Elrond’s skills at healing.”

At the mention of Aragorn, the King’s grip intensified, and the laegel shifted uncomfortably under his father’s agonizing touch and his mordant visage. “The Ranger decided this, did he? He took you to the Peredhel, to Imladris. Why? You are _my_ son, Legolas. You should have come home. Why do you live when other Elves die? Why do you submit when other Elves would die to keep themselves from such shame?”

The King watched his son, waiting for the explanation, not at all suspecting that the answer would be him – and Estel, the twins, Elrond, and the other friends Legolas loved enough to withstand his grief so that he could remain with them, to keep them from grieving for him. Despite the many years of torment he had endured for his father’s own emotional turmoil, the laegel was not prepared to lay blame on Thranduil’s shoulders for the hatred that had corrupted his thinking and had swayed his actions with its hopelessness and despair. Therefore, he found he could not tell Thranduil of the scar, of its influence over him.

Instead, the Prince merely told his father what he had been telling him for many years, although this time the laegel hoped his Ada would listen. “I am sorry. Please, forgive me.” Thranduil merely waited, clearly expecting more from his son than this, and so Legolas began to talk, feeling the scar speak for him as if the words were his own, “I am weak Ada. You are right; I am nothing, a whore. I am no Prince.”

Thranduil’s face became slack, his mouth hung ajar at what the Prince was telling him, but Legolas, wanting to tell his father of the suppurative hatred welling within him, needing to let his King know he agreed with his recriminations, fell painfully to his knees before the couch, before his father. “I am nothing, Ada. I deserved the merchants’ treatment and though I did not desire it, I should have died.” He laid his head at his father’s feet, feeling every injury on his body as he wound his arms around his Ada’s calves. Legolas was tired of conflict; the grief and sorrow from remembering his attacks and from his father’s withheld forgiveness was breaking him. “I am sorry that I have shamed you. I am sorry that I did not die.”

Feeling arms wind under his, pulling him from the floor, the Elf tried to hold tight to his father’s legs, for he was unwilling to cease his entreaty. He longed for his father’s mercy. He did not care that he was blameless and thus did not truly need it. _Forgive me, Ada,_ he thought, unable to speak any longer as he supplicated himself without humiliation at his father's feet. The hands holding him were insistent, however, and they forced Legolas into rising. He pushed at them, thinking, _Leave me, Elrohir._ It was not Elrohir who gathered him to the couch, nor the sentry or commander.

“It hurts,” the King whispered as he pulled Legolas from the floor. He spoke directly into the younger Elf's ear, as if to hide his words from his unwanted audience, who heard nonetheless. “You do not understand, my son.” The King grabbed Legolas by his arm, pulling him roughly towards him. The Silvan kept his eyes averted and his body pliant, not wishing his father to believe him to be struggling against him, although his every instinct bade him to. The King’s actions pained the laegel while his muscles trembled at the effort his weak, torn, and beaten body used merely to remain conscious. “It hurts to love you so much that I fear waking every day to find that you have left me. That you have abandoned me as she did.”

Enfolding the surprised, nervous, and tremulous Prince in his embrace, the King continued quietly, sounding as if he were ashamed to be speaking, “I hate you, Legolas. I love you so much that I hate you. The thought of losing you makes my heart seize. It haunts my every waking moment, and even my dreams. No amount of wine can drive this fear away, Legolas.” The King let loose a loud and broken sigh, clasping the unresponsive laegel to him until the Woodland Prince could barely breathe. “I wish that you had died, my son, because then I could go with you. We would be with your Naneth,” the King rambled as his drunken sorrow took him, stroking his son’s long, sticky hair as he continued, “we would suffer no more.”

Legolas’ mind reeled. The information was too much for him to understand. _Ada loves me?_ After believing his father hated him for so long, Thranduil merely saying the words held no meaning to the Prince, for the sum of the King’s actions belied this hollow sentiment. _What new trick is this? Why does he say this now? There is nothing left for him to gain of it._

“I am sorry, my son,” Thranduil said, apologizing to the Silvan for perhaps the first time in Legolas' adult life. He hugged the Prince to him as he rocked in his seat on the couch. “I love you. I love you so much that it pains me.”

His father wept, but unlike before, when the King had cried for his own selfish reasons after beating Legolas with the fire poker, Thranduil now cried for Thranduilion, telling the young Elf, “I did not intend for the merchant to harm you, my son. I did not intend for Kane to abuse you. I do not love wine more than I love you. I would not trade your life for it. I cannot bear to lose you. I cannot bear the loss of another. Do not leave me like your mother has left me, my son.”

So sincere, so heartbroken did the King sound, that the Prince slid his arms tentatively around his father’s waist. _We are not so different,_ the Prince thought, his father’s words striking a chord within him, for they echoed the same lament resounding through the Elf’s broken soul.

“I have only wished that you would remain with me,” the King told his son, weeping into the hair at the top of the Prince’s head; “I could not keep your mother alive, Legolas.” Thranduil released his son as he wiped the tears from his eyes, pushing Legolas from him so that he could face him. “I grew to hate her, to wish she would die quickly. But I did not kill your mother,” the King railed, standing from the couch and pacing to the fireplace, keeping his back turned away from Legolas, such that though the Wood-Elf could hear the tears in his father’s voice, he could not see them any longer. “I am not to blame!”

Confused by this abrupt change in conversation, the Prince tried to console his father, “No one blames you, Ada. She was –”

“I am not Elrond!” the ruler interrupted, and whirling to the Prince, the King stumbled towards the couch, towering over his son as he moaned, “I could not keep her alive! She died from grief, from pain and horrors forced upon her so base that it pained me to be near her. And now you bring me the same shame and live so that there is no end to it for me! So that I must suffer this shame with you.”

As quickly as it had started, the King’s rant was over, leaving the Prince more confused than before. Legolas wished to understand his father’s words, to believe Thranduil’s love for him, but much like the Ranger’s touch earlier that night, the King’s repentance had come too soon.

“I do not know what effect the merchant’s death will have on our relations with Lake-town,” the King said unhappily. He looked around the room, remembering the other Elves who were not shy in their attentiveness to what might otherwise have been a private discussion between father and son. He breathed deeply to calm himself. “But they will know that actions such as those committed by Kane and his fellow merchants will not be tolerated. The Ranger’s violence will cause some good, at least, if the men of Lake-town value their lives.”

 _I must get Estel out of the dungeons,_ he thought, watching his father try to compose himself. To ask the King for this would be to risk inviting the ridicule, blame, and anger that Thranduil had temporarily rescinded. “Estel does not deserve to be imprisoned, Ada. Please let him go.”

“No,” the King told him, shaking his head. “No, Legolas. He has committed murder in my home. Kane may have deserved the death he was given, but not by the Ranger, not when it disobeyed my orders.”

“Please Ada,” he begged, his mind racing to find some reason for the King to agree, some logic by which the King could adhere to a new edict, a forgiveness for the Ranger’s actions.

He thought to tell his father of his madness, of the numbness that he needed to survive the grief, and of the Ranger’s touch, which could draw him from this torpor once the grief was distant enough that he could ignore it, so that he could survive. He walked a fine line. Without Aragorn, Legolas would die, and the King would lose his son to either the grief Legolas fled from or the numbness he used to avoid feeling the grief. However, Legolas could not dispel the fragile and fleeting love in his Ada’s eyes by telling his father that his son was crazy.

Thranduil frowned down at the laegel, and with his knuckles, swept away the blood-matted hair hanging against his son’s bruised and gaunt cheeks.

“You do not let him go because of me…because you do not wish me to love him,” Legolas supplied, seizing the front of his father’s robe and feeling nauseous to defy his father even this much.

The King looked to the commander and twin sitting across the way and then knocked Legolas’ hands from him as if brushing away crumbs from his robes. The King did not glare down at him with hatred, but something selfish and sinister still lay within the King as he told his son, “I will let the Ranger out of the dungeons, if he promises never to return to the Forest.”

The Prince nearly leapt to his feet to hug his father, for he was overjoyed to hear that Thranduil would release the Ranger, even should it mean Aragorn could not return to Mirkwood. There were other places he could see his lover. The Ranger’s freedom was more important than what the King asked, but the sovereign had not finished his ultimatum. “You must make a promise, my son. You must promise that your disgusting relationship with the human is over. You will not see him again.”

“King Thranduil!” the younger twin exclaimed, rising to his feet with Glorfindel as they walked together to where Legolas sat on the couch. “If you wish Estel to leave, then I will not argue, but do not be so rash!”

“He is a human and he is male. I will not allow my son to continue this revolting charade,” the King told Elrohir, though he had not removed his gaze from Legolas. “Promise me. Tell me that you will not abandon me, Legolas. Tell me that you will stay here and that you will not seek the Ranger’s company again.”

 _I cannot do this,_ the laegel thought. Above all else, he wanted to free the Ranger from the dungeons; and yet, he could not promise such a thing, for surely he would die without Estel’s companionship. _He asks me not to abandon him but I will not live without Aragorn. I cannot do this._

However, the Prince, loving the Ranger more than he loved himself, bowed his head and told his father, “I promise, Ada.”

Without a word to Legolas’ agreement, the King walked brusquely to the door, pausing only to tell Ninan, “Let the Ranger stay the night in his cell, and when the sun rises, see that he is on his way. Make sure the healers and servants know that the Noldor are to have whatever they desire from the apothecary or the stores for their journey back to Imladris. And if Legolas needs anything, do not hesitate to procure it for him.”

 _I need Estel._ The Wood-Elf felt nothing once more, not for his father, and not for himself, and when the King left, the Prince found he could no longer feel the couch beneath him or the hands of the commander and twin on his exhausted body as they kept him from falling to the stone floor.


	48. Chapter 48

He followed Kalin through the halls, thinking of his lover and wondering whether the Wood-Elf was well upstairs. _The twins will see that he is well; they will not leave his side now. Glorfindel will see that Thranduil does not hurt him and the twins can give Legolas the comfort that he needs._ Aragorn kept his gaze on the carpet. He was not well, himself, and his body ached, his chest hurt, and he was fatigued. _I am still sick. I should be in a bed, preferably with Legolas, while the twins dote on us._

Smiling at the thought, the Ranger let himself be led deeper into the cavernous mountain palace, the hallways becoming smaller and darker as they moved closer to the cells. He was tormenting himself, he knew, thinking such thoughts about Legolas, for the Wood-Elf was beyond grieving and the evidence of this still clung to the Ranger’s bloodied clothes. He could not know how the Silvan fared now. He imagined it would not be anytime soon that Legolas would welcome his presence, should the Prince even survive this new attack. Not wanting to think of these things, though, he retained his blissful imagining.

“This way, Estel,” the sentry told him, passing through a small doorway that Aragorn knew would eventuate into the cellars, the underground stream on which the empty barrels floated, and then the Forest River, should they have traversed this hallway. This part of the palace was not truly under the mountain, but along the taper of the mountainside as it sloped down, following parallel to the Forest River, and was known to few outside the Silvan realm.

Instead, they chose the other pathway, which also led to the cellars, but along its way were the dungeons and the innermost cells in which only the worst of those that dared to anger Thranduil were placed. People not of Elf-kind or Elves whose ways had aligned with the Dark were placed here. Such a thing was a rarity, even in Mirkwood, though, and no sentries were posted at the entrance to the dungeons, for no prisoners were ensconced within the small, lightless, and formidable cells lining each side of the long hallway. In fact, most of these cells were filled with surplus storage that would need to be cleared out should they need use.

They had not yet passed a single door when Kalin turned around suddenly. The Ranger knew what he would say before he spoke, “You can be gone before daybreak, Estel. The King will not hold your brothers or Lord Glorfindel accountable for your absence, and truly, I think Thranduil would rather you to be gone.” The sentry stepped forward, laid a hand on each of Aragorn’s shoulders, and frowned as he thought of his words, telling the human, “I have known you for as long as Legolas has known you, Estel, though not as well. I would not see you put in the dungeons, nor do I wish to be the one placing you here. Your actions are worthy, not punishable.”

“My actions have placed me here, Kalin, regardless of their worth,” the Ranger assured the sentry, firmly but not unkindly taking Kalin’s hands from his shoulders to walk on down the hall. “Besides, I am not leaving. Not without Legolas, at least.” He heard the sentry sigh, but Kalin followed Aragorn’s progress down the hallway.

At the first door to which they came, Kalin paused, opening the door without needing to unlock it. “This will be far enough. It is not as if the dungeons are full tonight,” the sentry told him, indicating with a nod of his head for the Ranger to enter.

Without the benefit of torchlight, Aragorn could see nothing within the small cell, but Kalin soon remedied this, for he took one of the torches from the hallway and affixed it into a niche in the stone wall beside the cell door. The Ranger examined the room in the pleasant, orange light from the torch – though sparse, the cell was adequate. The Wood-Elves were not in the business of torture and did not take kindly to denying even their prisoners the most basic of comforts. A small cot sat against one wall, its mattress lean but clean, and on it was a thin blanket. No other furniture lay in the room, save for a chamber pot under the bed, a small pitcher and basin sitting on a short table, neither of which held any water, and a single wooden chair. The worst that could be said of the room was that it lacked windows, which to a Wood-Elf would have been traumatic.

 _I wonder if the lower cells are less friendly than this one,_ the Ranger wondered, shivering at the cold chill that permeated the cell.

“I must go see that the merchant’s body is disposed of as the King desires,” the sentry said and bowed slightly, apologetically, and turned to leave. “If you have need of anything, Estel, just shout down the hall. I will have two sentries placed there soon enough.”

Aragorn, noticing that Kalin had not shut the door nor made any effort to secure him within the cell, asked the sentry with tired and worried amusement, “Will you not lock the door, or do you think me incapable of getting past your sentries?”

The sentry admitted as he stood on the threshold, “The sentries won’t be there to stop you.” Kalin flashed the Ranger a somber smile and then left, leaving the human in his cell alone, though not for long.

He could hear them talking down the hallway and nearly left the cell to see who it was, but decided against it when he recognized the voice. _Elladan. Kalin must be telling him where I am. He must have heard I am in the dungeons, then, and that I have killed the merchant,_ the Ranger brooded, sitting heavily upon the cot. _I have placed my brothers in an awkward position._

The voices stopped; within moments, Elladan was at the door, peering into it curiously. “At least this room is cleaner than your room at home,” the twin teased unsmilingly.

“Why are you not with Legolas?” Aragorn asked, shifting his seat on the cot to allow his brother room to sit, also.

“Elrohir is with him, and Glorfindel. I passed Glorfindel on my way here,” the Noldo explained, sitting beside his brother on the bed. “They are both keeping our Greenleaf company.”

“And he has met with Thranduil?”

Shrugging his shoulders, the twin told him, “He should be meeting with him now.” Elladan scooted farther onto the small cot, reclining against the stone behind him. “This is a horrible mess, brother.”

 _That is an understatement,_ the Ranger mused, mimicking his brother’s position so that they both sat with their legs drawn onto the bed, their backs against the wall.

“And _you_ are a horrible mess, Estel. This is the merchant’s blood, I take it?”

“Some of it.” Aragorn rested his forearms on his bent knees, while closing his eyes. He was sicker than he cared to admit to himself. While his illness was waning, he was not yet recovered and needed rest.

“How did you kill him?”

The Ranger shook his head, the back of his skull rolling against the rough rock wall, the image of Thranduil’s anger coming to him as he answered. “I did not kill him; I merely relieved him of his manhood.” Elladan somewhat comically closed his knees in sympathy, as if the very idea of the emasculation pained him. “But he might have survived, though it was not likely. Thranduil broke his head open on the floor. He will certainly die now, if he is not already dead.”

“Thranduil did this?” Elladan waited for Aragorn’s nod before he asked, “Why?”

“Kane admitted his part in Legolas’ suffering, of the incident in Lake-town, and of tonight.”

Elladan sighed, the sound not of mere sadness or melancholy, but one of someone prepared to speak what he did not wish to reveal. “He was not raped. Legolas told us that he traded his body to the merchant so that Kane would not be angered with Mirkwood, so that he would return to Lake-town and cease this controversy with the other merchants.”

Despite the fact that he wanted to believe that Legolas had not acted of his own accord, the Wood-Elf had betrayed him. He had consented to Kane’s lust. “He does not know what he does, it is the scar,” the Ranger argued to both Elladan and himself, his ire returning full force, though it was now aimed at Thranduil for being the underlying motivation behind Legolas' decision.

Turning the Ranger’s logic against him, Elladan told the human, “And how do you know when the scar affects him and when it does not? Can it not also be said that the scar has affected all of his actions, brother?” Before Aragorn could question this odd query, Elladan was continuing, and the twin was angry, “If you would explain his consent to Kane by the scar, can his consent to you not also be explained this way? You make the scar cease its hateful speech to him; he has sought the comfort you can offer him.”

“That is not true,” Aragorn argued weakly, seeing his brother’s conclusions to be possible, but not willing to accept them.

 _Could he truly have not desired what we have done except that it gave him comfort?_ The Ranger was suddenly aware that he had thought this before, the morning after the first time he and Legolas had found pleasure by the brook.

His ire spewing forth, Elladan unfairly inquired, “Have you not spoken with him of these things? Have you done nothing but bed him?”

As angry as Elladan sounded, Estel was immediately angrier, rising from his seat on the cot as if the thin blanket over it had been set afire. “Elladan,” he warned his brother, spinning to face him. He would, of course, never hurt Elladan, but he was feelings its possibility, his umbrage at the twin's doubts paining the human more so that they had come from his brother. “I love him, Elladan. Do not belittle what is between us.”

Holding his hands in the air, Elladan apologized, “I’m sorry, brother, but…” The Noldo paused, his mouth set into a grim line as he tried to calm himself. “I know you love him, and I do not doubt this. Legolas loves you. I do not doubt this, either, and neither should you. But Legolas is in no condition to decide what is best for him. I would that we had convinced you of this before or that none of this had happened in the first place. Perhaps then this love between the two of you could be pure and without the taint of the scar’s influence.”

His own anger deflated, Aragorn sat back on the cot to hover on its edge in discomfort. “What do you mean?”

Without conceit, the twin told his younger, human brother, “Elrohir and I were right, Estel. We told you in the forest, before we reached Imladris, that this had come too soon for Legolas.”

Still confused, Aragorn remarked irritably, “You speak too vaguely.”

Elladan snorted a short, annoyed laugh. “Brother, less than a fortnight passed after Legolas’ rape and when first you…” the twin trailed off, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an action reminding the Ranger of their father, Lord Elrond. “Did you not think some consequences would come of this? And as if this were not enough, Legolas lives only for you, Estel. It is not right!”

“Legolas chose not to fade for me. I did nothing to prompt this reaction, brother,” the human retorted, his irritation returning. _Legolas is alive because of his decision. He sounds as if he would rather Legolas had died._

With his fingers now digging into his temples to massage roughly the skin there, Elladan proclaimed, “I do not know what caused Legolas to want to live for you, but he cannot! He must live for himself. This cannot continue. Legolas’ existence cannot hinge upon yours. It is no life for him and it will only prolong this madness he endures!”

He wanted to argue with the twin, to tell him that the laegel was not crazy, but he could not find it within himself to lie. “How different is it that Legolas’ life is bound to mine from any couple, Elladan?” he asked instead. “Why do I not deserve him?”

“I do not know how to feel about the two of you,” the twin explained quietly, laying a comforting hand on the Ranger’s forearm. “Elrohir and I love you both. You are both our brothers, and while we desire you both to be happy and would do whatever it takes to achieve this, you are mortal, Estel.”

Squeezing the human’s arm lightly, Elladan continued, while Estel stared at the coruscation of the torchlight on the wall opposite where they sat, “Elrohir and I do not wish to lose you, ever. But one day we will. Although it makes your inevitable death no easier to accept, it is the way of men. It is not the way of Elves. Legolas is immortal. We do not want Legolas to fade when you die. He deserves love that can be returned to him for eternity, Estel, not just during a single mortal’s lifetime. Your love is no less of a gift because you are mortal, but it is fleeting. Legolas will die when you do, and Elrohir and I fear for him.”

This was not something of which the Ranger had never thought. He was well acquainted with the arguments against his loving the laegel, including that he was a mere mortal. The seed of doubt that had been planted long ago, after his pleasurable atonement from Legolas, suddenly seemed to sprout new growth under his brothers’ rain of reservations. “I have told him what you have just told me,” he retorted to his brother. “But it is Legolas’ choice, as well as mine. He has chosen this.”

“I know,” Elladan agreed, appearing no happier for this realization. “But let it be his choice and not a choice brought about because of the scar, or because of his grief.” Again, the Noldo declared without rancor for Estel’s supposed lack of heeding his words the first time, “We told you in the forest, brother, that you would mire yourself in a situation whose only solution would be its end. We did not understand the import of our words at the time, but they have become even truer now.” The twin stared at him, judging something that the Ranger could not identify, before Elladan finally leant forward, putting his face close to Estel’s to ask, “Tell me that you love him. Tell me that this is not a momentary affair that will fade with time.”

Without hesitation, the Ranger told his eldest brother, “I love Greenleaf. I will always love him, Elladan. I do not know why you doubt me, but do not doubt my word any longer. Legolas is mine as I am his." Estel sighed. "Were I an Elf, we would be bonded already.”

Nodding, the Noldo smiled sadly, and then told his brother, “Then I can tell you how to help him.” Elladan lowered his head, his dark hair slipping from behind his ears to fall forward, hiding his features as he whispered, “You must leave him be. Let Legolas heal.”

“And you shall,” a voice came from outside the cell, reverberating in the hallway even as the golden commander appeared in the corridor outside the room, “because you have no other choice.” Glorfindel handed him some clean clothing; the Ranger’s bags, weapons, and overcoat were in his hands, as well. The commander told the Ranger, “Here, Estel, change from those bloody clothes. And I have brought your cloak, too. These dungeons are nicer than some homes, but it is cold here, and you are still sick.”

Taking his leather overcoat with glee, the Ranger looked within the pocket. _Sick or not, I am smoking my pipe,_ he decided, wanting the simple pleasure it would bring him. Pulling free his pipe and then a piece of straw from the mattress, Aragorn tamped some of the dried and sticky plant from his pouch into the bowl, ignoring Elladan’s frown of disapproval.

“Where is Legolas? How is he?” he asked in rapid succession as he worked, lighting the end of the straw in the torchlight, and then his pipe with the straw. Immediately, the twin’s nose curled in disgust at the smell, but Aragorn inhaled deeply, enjoying the tangy aroma of the pipe-weed.

“With Elrohir in his library. And he is exhausted, sleeping peacefully with Elrohir and Ninan to watch over him.” Glorfindel crossed his arms and leant against the opened door. “It is almost dawn,” he said conversationally, nudging with his toe the Ranger’s satchels where he had placed them on the floor, bringing the Adan’s attention to them. “You will be leaving soon, Estel. I suggest you rest before it is time to leave.”

His mind already puzzling over why the commander had brought all of his belonging to the cells, including his weapons, Estel drew heavily on his pipe, blowing the smoke out in an imperfect ring as he asked, “Leave?”

Glorfindel did not hesitate when he told the Ranger, “When Anor rises, you are leaving Mirkwood, never to return.”

 _Leaving? Thranduil has changed his mind or thought better of imprisoning one of Elrond’s children,_ the Ranger thought.

“That suits me well,” he told the commander, knocking the layer of ash from the top of his bowl onto the floor. “But Legolas is not well enough to travel.”

 _We will need his sentries to accompany us to Imladris and more supplies than we brought with us here,_ he pondered, thinking of a way for the Prince to travel safely with them in his current condition. _He will not –_

“Estel.”

– _suffer my touch right now, but the twins can care for him. It will take some time. I will follow Elladan’s advice, and when Legolas is better –_

“Estel.”

– _we will try again,_ he cogitated single-mindedly, pacing the small cell as he smoked his pipe with happy abandon. _I will wait forever for him to be better. I will not rush him this time. It will be different –_

Finally, the commander stepped in the Ranger’s path, causing Estel, who was watching the floor instead of where he walked, to run directly into Glorfindel’s chest with his outthrust hand, spilling his smoldering pipe across the elder Elf’s chest. “Valar! I am sorry, Glorfindel,” he said, swatting at the ashes on the commander’s tunic, all of which earned him an amused snort from Elladan. His tired mind awhirl with the hope of a second chance with the Wood-Elf, Aragorn laughed with his brother.

Grabbing the Ranger by his upper arms and glaring at both his Noldorin charge and the Ranger, Glorfindel told them, “Legolas is not coming, Estel. He is staying in Mirkwood.”

The human shook his head, confused, “We are not leaving him here. It is too soon for him to travel, but we can –”

“No, Estel. Legolas has promised Thranduil that he would remain in Mirkwood.” Seeing the horrified, disbelieving faces before him, Glorfindel explained, shaking the Ranger lightly as if to rouse him from the strange daze in which the notion of leaving the Wood-Elf behind had mired him, “You are free to leave because Legolas has made an oath to his father that he would cease your relationship, Estel. Legolas is staying; you will not see him ever again.”

 _Kalin was right. Thranduil would rather me be gone than in the dungeons. He would rather Legolas die than to have me near him._ Aragorn could not find the words to express his resistance aloud. He was not leaving Legolas. Should the twins, commander, or Thranduil himself try to compel him into doing so, the Ranger was sure he would be forced into violence. _This will not happen. I am not going._ He did not need to say how he felt, for his arms, crossed over his chest, and his visage, as unrelenting as his ambition to remain with the laegel, told the commander all he needed to know.

“You are leaving Mirkwood at dawn,” Glorfindel demanded of him, stepping closer to the Ranger, his own face set in a dour mask of determination, “even if I have to knock you out and tie you up to get you out of here.”

“You could try, Glorfindel, but none will keep me from him.”

“Do no test my patience, young one,” the commander warned him, taking another step closer to the Ranger, and showing that he, too, would be willing to employ violence to see his objective completed. “You are leaving this morning.” Aragorn barely had the time to shake his head in negation before the golden Elf had seized the front of Estel’s bloodstained tunic, pushing the Ranger against the wall behind them. “You have been given the chance to leave this cell, to be free of Thranduil’s ire at your treasonous actions, to retain your life. I will not let you throw away this opportunity.”

“I am not going, at least not without Greenleaf,” he rebutted.

Growling softly, the commander twisted his hand in the Ranger’s tunic, and suddenly, the human found himself lifted from the floor by it. “You are going home, Estel. I will not return to Lord Elrond to tell him I have left you here to rot in Thranduil’s dungeons.”

His grey eyes wide in surprise, the Ranger hung by the commander’s hold of his tunic, his feet not touching the floor, and his mind slow to accept that Glorfindel would not let him win this fight. Instinctively, he grabbed the elder Elf’s hands, holding tight to them but not bothering to endeavor to pry himself free of Glorfindel’s tenacious grasp. The commander would not give in as he had in letting Aragorn slay the merchant – Glorfindel’s duty, to protect Imladris and his Lord, extended to the sons of Elrond, as well, and the Balrog-slayer would not be dissuaded.

“I cannot leave Legolas alone,” the human tried, but his words were weighted with the sudden futility of his actions and the fruitless situation of trying once more to convince those around him that the Prince needed him.

“What good do you do him here in the dungeons except give him worry? You are leaving at dawn, Estel,” the commander told him, releasing his tunic at the prompting of Elladan, who was tugging at the elder Elf’s forearm.

Slipping down the wall, the human sighed as his booted heels met the stone floor. Glorfindel bowed his head briefly to the Ranger, the only apology he would receive from the commander, and more than Aragorn would have asked, as the golden Elf’s intentions were well meant. _He did not knock me unconscious yet,_ the Ranger cogitated, for the commander did not make idle threats. _I can find no way to remain in Mirkwood, or take Legolas with us, while tied to a horse rendered insensible._

“Glorfindel…” the elder twin started, and then to Estel, who was on the verge of falling, not from the commander’s assault but from the despairing bewilderment that had settled in his breast, Elladan said, “Sit, brother."

Ignoring the commander’s outburst entirely, as Glorfindel had endured a trying night and was merely doing his duty, the Ranger sidled past the dark Elf and the golden Elf, bumping his knees against the short table. “There must be a way for us to remain. Thranduil’s mind must be changed,” the human told them, bending to salvage his pipe before either of the two Elves could smash it as they fought for room to stand in the small cell.

As he coughed into his fist, the Ranger determined a plausible excuse. “I am sick,” he offered. “Surely he will not wish to be responsible for my death should we travel to Imladris while I am not well.” He sat on the bed, feeling the illness that he wished to use as an excuse to stay, but not enough that it would normally give him pause in traveling. “The weather,” he tried upon seeing the frowns of the two Elves before him, neither of which held any optimism that this ploy would succeed. “The weather is not suitable for traveling with a sick human. Perhaps Thranduil will allow us to linger for a while longer.”

The commander leant calmly against the wall, wrecking the human’s hope by telling him, “Thranduil will not care that you are sick, Estel. Nor will he care that the weather threatens your health. If you died on your way home, you would give him cause for celebration.”

“Then there must be some excuse, some way of convincing the King to reverse this foolish edict,” he railed, his ire growing at the twin and commander’s hopelessness. _They have given up. They would have me flee, leaving Legolas to make reparations for my actions once again._ “If we could find some excuse to remain, even should I need to stay in the dungeons, then it will give us time to see that Legolas is well.” _Or to find a way to bring him with us,_ the Ranger added to himself.

“It is best that you leave, Estel.” Holding his hand up in the air to silence the Ranger, Glorfindel continued, “I have already told you that Legolas must see to his own affairs. You cannot fight his battles for him.”

Incredulous that the commander thought the laegel currently capable of such a thing, Aragorn ranted, “That is preposterous. I wish to remain to support him, not fight his battles for him. Thranduil is mad, Glorfindel. You have seen the way in which he treats Legolas. Thranduil hates him.”

“Thranduil does not hate him,” the Balrog-slayer told the two brothers. “During his audience with Legolas, the King told the Prince that he loved him, Estel.”

“What happened? What happened that Thranduil would say such a thing, and then allow Legolas to make a promise never to see Aragorn again?” the elder twin asked, seating himself in the unused, rickety chair, the seat creaking as the aged, damp rotted wood bowed slightly under the Noldo’s modest weight.

Glorfindel frowned in thought, garnering the events in his mind into a cohesive story to relate to his confused audience. “Legolas admitted to his father that he was not raped,” the commander told them, and when Aragorn opened his mouth to argue with Glorfindel as he had with Elladan that it was the scar, and not Legolas, who had decided to capitulate to Kane’s lust, the golden Elf merely glared, which was enough to silence the Ranger. “While the merchant was present, Thranduil apparently told Legolas that he was to give the merchant whatever Kane desired. I think it surprised the King to hear that his son had taken this dictum as far as he did, and since he does not know of the scar, Thranduil struggles to understand why his son would behave this way.”

This did not answer the twin’s question, and with his blood already boiling at the thought of the laegel admitting to his father that he had willingly lain with the merchant, while avoiding telling him of the scar, Aragorn asked, “He did not strike Legolas, did he?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “No, he did not, but Elrohir, Ninan, and myself were in the room with them. He asked Legolas of the first time he had suffered, in Lake-town, and when Legolas told him that he had not thought the merchants would attack him, that he tried to leave without conflict so as not to endanger Mirkwood’s wine trade, Thranduil was ashamed.” Wiping at the dried blood on his face, blood that Estel had caused to flow from the commander’s nose while in the merchant’s bedroom, the valiant commander shrugged his shoulders, adding, “Thranduil has been suffering under the illusion that Legolas will abandon him, leaving his father for Mandos’ Halls, or to Imladris, to Elrond. Now is not the time for Legolas to leave, or for us to remain. We must give them time to resolve their differences. We must not interfere. Legolas needs his father and Thranduil needs his son.”

The Ranger imbibed this information, his ears ringing with hearing the importance of these events that he had not been present to see, but even hearing of them, he could not reconcile the strange advice the commander gave with the idea of leaving Legolas with only his father to aid him. “Thranduil has had countless years to resolve his differences with Legolas. And if Thranduil loves him, why does he treat him so?”

“I do not know, Estel. I cannot allege to understand Thranduil’s odd behavior, or his strange reasoning behind the odium he shows for Legolas when he claims to love him, but Legolas is not the only one avoiding his grief. I would wager Thranduil’s despair at losing his mate is not as life threatening as his son’s grief, however. Not unless he becomes so soused he one day falls down the stairs.” Glorfindel shrugged his shoulders again, appearing less like the noble and elder Elf he usually seemed to be, and more like what he truly was – that is, someone as inexperienced in these matters as the Ranger or twin to whom he spoke, offering his counsel. “Thranduil claims that it is fear that drives him to treat Legolas as such. He said that the terror of losing Legolas causes him such pain that he hates the Prince, for it pains him to love him as much as he does.” Sneering in disgust, Glorfindel searched the wall as if the answers were written thereon, before turning to Estel. “But these are poor excuses, and the King is selfish and foolish for asking Legolas not to abandon him, while pushing his son away with violence and hate.”

_Thranduil is even madder than first I thought._

“This is only another of his ways of controlling Legolas,” the Ranger ventured, tapping the spent ashes of his pipe onto the floor. He watched a single remaining ember burn its last on the stone before it emitted a thin tendril of smoke and then died.

“Thranduil was not lying, however foolish and misguided he may be. I saw no dishonesty in him, Estel. He loves his son. He apologized to Legolas for what he has put him through.”

“His apology is meaningless unless he stops his recriminations and violence,” Elladan whispered, leaning back into his chair as he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the braids free in his agitation. “Legolas told us of the scar, of his disconnection. I have seen him retreat from his father’s hatred many times and know this to be how he does it, how he avoids his father's anger. He told us what the scar does to him, how it sways his thinking, and how he has tried to quiet it,” Elladan explained succinctly, fiddling with the hem of his collar in agitation.

He continued, “I do not know how much of this of which either of you are aware, but listen. The scar came about because Legolas has not faced his grief, because he tried not to feel it, to be numb, so that he could live, whether to avoid his father’s anger after the first incident, or to stay for you after the second. He told us that his detachment is why he avoided your touch earlier, brother, because the grief was too near for him to ignore. But the scar has become more vicious, more persuasive, and it will not cease permanently by the pain Legolas uses to keep it at bay, or from your love for him, Estel.” Standing from his chair, the elder twin sat beside the Adan on the bed and began to fiddle with the Ranger’s collar, instead. “The scar is him, and if this is true, then it is not Kane, or Thranduil, or anyone else who is the enemy. It is Legolas.”

Aragorn pulled away from his brother’s absentminded fingers so that he could face the elder twin, but Elladan persisted, staving off the Ranger’s questions and denial with this: “It is not a battle you can help him win. Legolas must do this alone. He must confront himself.” Not at all deterred that his young, human brother was annoyed at his mothering, Elladan swept away the hair from Estel’s shoulder to lay his hand there. “Although I do not wish to leave him, either, I think that Glorfindel is right. It would be better that we leave, that we do not interfere. Legolas must do this alone,” Elladan repeated.

He mulled over what his adopted family, among whom he counted Glorfindel, told him. _I cannot believe that Legolas would be better alone. I do not trust Thranduil’s claims to love Legolas or his self-serving apologies._ Holding his head in his hands, the Ranger stared at the floor of the cell, feeling the eyes of the two Elves with him watching him, waiting for his complicity. _Legolas would rather remain numb, living with the scar than to face this grief._ His eyes shut themselves of their own accord, his chest aching with sickness as much as the painful thought that came to him, _And he does this for me, because he has promised not to leave me. I have been as selfish as Thranduil._ Elladan’s earlier condemnation was true, Aragorn realized, for though he had meant no harm by consummating his love for the Wood-Elf, he had only helped Legolas to avoid the grief that haunted him. His own desire for peace, to avoid conflict, to enjoy his love for the Prince and have Legolas enjoy this, also, was not wrong in itself, but merely in its consequences for his withering Greenleaf.

Suddenly, the Ranger realized what he needed to do. The exhaustion, despair, and indecision left him. _I have promised never to force him into doing that which he does not desire, but if I am all that will pull him from the insentience he hides behind, then I will free him of it before I leave._

He would leave, but not without seeing the laegel one last time, and not without absolving the Prince of his promise not to leave Aragorn. “I will go, but not unless I can say goodbye to him,” the Ranger declared, raising his head to face the commander and twin.

“No. It is almost morning and the King expects you to be on your horse and riding out of the gates at first light.” Glorfindel, the Ranger could tell, was adamant that Aragorn would leave, but the elder Elf was also clearly sympathetic.

Therefore, the Ranger used this pity, pleading, “You ask me to leave Legolas here with his abusive father while he fades from grief. You ask me to turn my back on him in his time of need. I will never see him again; the least you can allow me is a farewell.” The Noldo and commander exchanged suspicious frowns, their hesitance causing the Ranger to promise, “I will go with you willingly, for Legolas, but do not deny me this, please. If I cannot stay, then I will not leave without saying goodbye.”

For a few moments, it seemed that the commander would not agree. “I see no harm in it if Thranduil remains unaware. Come, then,” the morose commander charged, “before the sun rises. Change from these bloodied clothes so that we do not attract more attention than necessary. Your goodbye must be swift. The morning draws near.”

Glorfindel passed the Ranger the forgotten, clean clothes the human had ignored earlier. Moving quickly, lest the twin and commander change their minds about allowing him to see his lover, Aragorn stripped off his ruined clothing, replacing them with forceful, hurried jerks of his arms and legs through the cloth of his unsoiled jerkin and leggings. Leaving the destroyed clothing on the bed, Aragorn took his bags and weapons in hand, helped by the commander and his eldest brother in carrying them from the cell, and followed behind them, though he longed to run to Legolas’ rooms.

_They will murder me for what I will do, if I can even get them to leave long enough to speak with Legolas alone._

Nearly sprinting, the trio moved through the hallway. At the end of the long tunnel stood two guards, and as they approached them, the Ranger hoped that the commander or Elladan would think of an excuse for them to be walking out of the dungeons with the human their King had only just sentenced to be sent there. One of the sentries walked away from his post and to them. The Wood-Elf looked nervous. He smiled uneasily as he called them to a halt. “Hold, my Lords. Is something amiss?”

 _Sweet Eru,_ the Ranger thought, _I have no wish to go barreling through more Wood-Elves._ He would not be stopped from seeing his lover – his plan was shoddy, but he would see it through to ensure the Prince would endure. However, the other sentry turned around to face them, and the human noted, with some shame, that it was Nimrol who had been assigned this duty. A dark bruise was forming over the Wood-Elf’s jaw where the Ranger had struck the sentry. _Wonderful. There is little chance he will not cause a fuss._

Nimrol was stoic as he stood at the end of the hall, watching from afar his fellow sentry address the three walkers. “We are making final arrangements for our journey,” Elladan prevaricated, “as it is almost morning and we will soon leave.”

“Ah, you are leaving.” The sentry nodded, his anxious smile fading into a grin of relief, as he walked them to the end of the tunnel, where Nimrol stood, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Kalin told us that you might be leaving.”

 _He must think we are fleeing, rather than leaving by the King’s order,_ the Ranger thought, but did not correct the sentry’s assumption. Instead, he watched Nimrol, waiting for the Wood-Elf to prevent them from going.

Feeling that perhaps he should apologize, the Ranger stopped in front of Nimrol, his guilt increasing as the Wood-Elf reached up to rub the bruise on his jaw. Nimrol watched the Ranger for a moment. “I am sorry, Nimrol,” the Ranger told the sentry and prepared himself for the sentinel’s lecture or his anger.

But the sentry smiled at him, saying, “Doesn’t hurt, human. Besides, it is a small price to pay knowing that the merchant is dead.” Aragorn looked to his brother and their teacher, who had stopped when he had, for some indication of how he should react to the sentry’s odd statement. Seeing the Ranger’s discomfort, Nimrol told them with an ever-widening smile, “All of us, except for those sentries beyond the walls this night, know of what you have done for the Prince, Estel. And they, and I, thank you for it.” Becoming suddenly serious, the sentry tapped the hilt of his sword. “I did not know,” Nimrol implored, letting loose his hilt to take the Ranger’s forearm in hand. “Prince Legolas is a warrior. I would not have thought the Prince to be overwhelmed by a human, especially not one such as Kane. And the King said that Legolas…well.” Nimrol blushed, and then coughed uncomfortably. “I am sorry.”

“There is much you do not know, Nimrol.” Elladan pulled at the Ranger’s cloak as he spoke, reminding the human of their urgency to reach Legolas’ quarters before it was time for them to leave. “We do not have the time to tell you, I am sorry, but Kalin may tell you the truth behind what has happened. Do take care of Legolas. He will need his friends with him.”

“Of course,” the sentry said with a small bow, “may your journey be safe, my Lords.” Aragorn did not have the opportunity to reply, for Elladan was already dragging him away from the corridor, up the stairs, and to the inclining hallway that would take them to the upper floors, to his lover.

_Did all of Mirkwood believe their King’s opinions of Legolas? Did they all believe him to have desired the merchants’ treatment, merely because of their King’s foul opinions?_

If he were never to see his lover again, if he were to leave Mirkwood not knowing if the laegel was well, or would be well, and if the Ranger were to accept this decree, to forsake his love for the Wood-Elf, then he would live the remainder of his life alone, and he would not leave without seeing that the laegel had hope for his own future. He would not depart without ensuring that this madness, this grief in which he had helped to keep the Prince enmeshed, would be conquered.

 _He will die without me,_ the Ranger knew, walking silently behind the commander and his eldest brother up the winding passage to the Prince’s quarters, _unless he faces this grief so that he can live for himself, and not for me._

No one passed them on their way up the hall – the raucous activity earlier had woken many of the Elves along the passageway, but they had since returned to their reverie, to their bond mates, to their immortal lives. _If I am all that will bring him from this numbness, then I will see him drawn from it before I leave._ Aragorn’s thoughts were fragile threads of understanding, spun together like a spider’s web, but he could not draw them together, he could not seem to make a whole of the fragmented pieces, and he was caught in them, unable to be free of their damning conclusion. _If he does not face his grief, he may die, or he will live a life of numbed indifference with the voice of the scar ever tormenting him. And if he faces his grief, he may die of it – but he_ may _live. He is strong; he has survived this long._

 _Legolas can prevail,_ he told himself, trying desperately to ensure that what Elladan had told him and what he knew of the scar were feasible with what he would now do, because he knew that should he be wrong, Legolas would fade this night.


	49. Chapter 49

“And Kalin will wish to hear what I have told you, Ninan. Please,” the younger twin implored the King’s head sentry, his voice soft, as if not to wake the Prince lying on the couch, but the laegel did not sleep. “Legolas will need his friends with him, and if we are not to be here, then it is all the more important that you and Kalin remain by his side.”

Ninan offered his agreement both to Elrohir’s request and his surmises about the Woodland Prince’s need for his friends, telling the younger Elf, “I will see to it that he is safe, Lord Elrohir. Had I known the King had deteriorated this much…if I had known what was happening…we have all known that the King held Legolas to higher standards, and that his anger caused him to lash out, but I knew none of this…” the sentry said in a soft rush of words, guilty that he had not aided the laegel before this culmination of events.

“Do not fault yourself, Ninan. I am sure that Legolas would not fault you,” the twin assured, and then continued explicating to the sentry more instructions to give to the Mirkwood healers concerning Legolas’ wounds. The Prince stopped listening and turned his attention back to the task of living, as ambitionless as he was in the undertaking.

He had woken to find himself in the library, with his head in Elrohir’s lap and his body stretched out across a couch, a light blanket laying over him. Although he did not know what time it was, the urgency building in Elrohir’s voice told Legolas that dawn was soon approaching. The Noldo was weeping. On occasion, the younger twin would remove his hand from where it lay on Legolas’ chest to wipe his face clean of the tears he could not contain. The Prince kept his eyes closed, his body relaxed, and his breathing low, despite the terror that had hold of him, so as not to rouse the twin's grief even more.

There was little reason for Legolas to attempt to maintain his refuge of numbness, since the Ranger was traveling home and Legolas’ reason for living leaving with his human lover, but the Silvan was not ready to die. _Do not feel it,_ he told himself, twisting his head into the Noldo’s stomach despite his effort to stop himself from evincing to the sentry and Noldo that he was awake. _Do not give in to grief. At least wait until they have left. Do not make their leaving harder by knowing that they leave you to fade._

However, he could not help but to enjoy the last comfort he believed he would ever receive before his passing. He slid an arm from under the thin blanket, grabbing Elrohir’s tunic at the Noldo’s waist, fisting it in his hand when another wave of terror washed over him. The twins and he shared a longer friendship than he and Aragorn, and he would miss them as much as he would miss the Ranger, although for much different reasons. _I will be alone, alone with Ada and my grief,_ he despaired. He did not want to die, much less in such a cowardly way.

“What is it, Greenleaf?” the younger twin asked, panicked that the Wood-Elf was awake when he thought the Prince to be sleeping. “Are you in pain?”

Inhaling the clean scent of the tunic over his friend’s belly, the laegel concentrated on remembering the younger twin and did not answer Elrohir’s query. He heard the Noldo exhale noisily; the hands stroking his bruised cheek resumed when Legolas forced his body into relaxing once more.

“He must be dreaming,” Elrohir told Ninan. “He has been plagued by nightmares recently.”

“That is understandable. He has lived through more than anyone should have to endure.” The pair sat in silence for a moment until the sentry warned the Noldo with a sigh, “The sun will rise soon.”

Elrohir’s body shook slightly, as if the twin were nodding, but of course, the laegel could not see this, for his eyes were shut tightly against the twin’s stomach. “Elladan or Glorfindel will come to fetch me when they are prepared to leave. One of them will stay with Estel. He’ll likely be tied to his horse,” the younger twin jested with an unamused snort.

As the sentry and twin continued their conversation, their stilted exchange turning to the upcoming journey and the safety thereof, the Prince wandered in his thinking, drifting through the memories of childhood years spent in Imladris, or those spent in Mirkwood before his Naneth had died. The idea of death did not frighten him. It would be as his father had claimed. He would see his Naneth again; he would be free of the pain and shame he had barely managed to bear.

 _I wonder if Ada would truly join me should I fade,_ he thought, his father’s fear of abandonment and his promise to his father not to desert him bolstering Legolas’ attempt to remain numb. _How can I keep the promise not to fade when I will have no reason to live?_ A knock at the door brought the Wood-Elf from his pondering; the soft creak of the chair in which Ninan sat told Legolas that the sentinel was answering the visitor.

“Lord Elladan,” Ninan began congenially, though his somber tone switched to surprise, and he exclaimed, “Estel! You should not be here!”

Immediately, Legolas ended his pretense of sleep, his entire body teemed with excitement to see the human, but also with dread of the consequences of the Ranger’s appearance, at the mention of the human’s name. _He should not be here,_ Legolas repeated to himself, opening his eyes and struggling to sit.

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Before he could walk into the library, Aragorn was stopped by Elladan, who pulled him away from the door to whisper, “Do not touch him, Estel. Leave him be.” Nodding and then moving to the door, to Legolas, the Ranger found his progress impeded again by the elder twin, who told him, “Anor is rising.” Elladan shook the Ranger’s arm slightly to keep his attention when the human wanted nothing more than to enter the library. Elladan, his brow knitted with sympathy, told his young, human brother, “We must be quick. If Thranduil discovers you are here, you’ll be in the dungeons again, or he will use your disobedience against Legolas once more.”

 _I had not thought of this,_ the Ranger worried, nodding his agreement to Elladan’s caution, also. More doubts assailed him of what he intended to do, what he intended to force upon Legolas. _I will have to be quick to avoid Thranduil’s knowing of this, so that Legolas will not be harmed further._ That he himself was considering harming the laegel caused Aragorn’s step to falter as he entered the library behind Elladan and Glorfindel, but upon entering the room, Estel searched for Legolas at once.

“I thought we would find you in the Prince’s rooms,” Glorfindel commented as he moved to stand against a shelf carved from the living rock of the mountain, on which were housed a multitude of various books.

“His servants are cleaning it,” the captain told the commander, walking close to Glorfindel and freeing the scant seating in the room for the others. “I’ll take the Prince there after they have finished.” Ninan was uncomfortable with what was occurring, this much was certain from how he glanced between each Elf in the room, waiting, it seemed to Aragorn, for one of the others to either explain the Ranger’s presence or throw Estel from the library.

But the human ignored all but Legolas, who with Elrohir’s help was sitting on the couch, the thin cover over him falling from him as he sat. Although the laegel wore a robe, it had parted as he moved, and the pale, wasted expanse of the Elf’s chest, once muscled and strong, made the Ranger’s determination wane and his own chest heave at the sight. _He will not survive this. He will fade._ Elrohir was adjusting the Prince’s robes and the blanket, covering what had been exposed, and propping the laegel up with pillows. Legolas was too weakened from injury and blood loss to do this on his own, much less remain upright while sitting.

“Estel,” the Prince whispered hoarsely, “my father –”

“I do not care, Greenleaf.” The Ranger knelt on the floor before the laegel, clasping his hands tightly together to keep from reaching out to the Prince. The Wood-Elf stared back at him, a slight curve to his lips, his happiness to see the Ranger the only emotion on the otherwise blank, bruised visage of his lover. “Legolas,” the Ranger began, glanced at the audience of Elves to his right by the shelves, and then leant closer to the Wood-Elf. When Legolas drew back, the detachment flickering on the Elf’s face, exposing the fear hidden underneath, the Ranger clenched his hands more forcefully together. He could feel the skin of his palms breaking under his fingernails in slick wounds. “Legolas, I would rather live my years in the dungeons than for you to have made this promise.”

Legolas looked away to his own hands lying limply in his lap and answered, “Ada is no fool, Estel. He put you in the dungeons for leverage, to force me to make this decision. And if I had not, he would have found another way to keep us apart.” The Elf’s mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile and he returned Aragorn’s loving gaze as he told the Ranger, “Besides, I doubt he would have allowed me to visit you in the dungeons. It is best that you leave.”

 _Glorfindel said the same thing,_ Aragorn noticed. _They have grown accustomed to this situation. They are hopeless that there is any way but Thranduil’s way._ Aragorn did not need to be told why it would be best that he leave. It would be best for Aragorn that he leave, not for Legolas, and the Wood-Elf, ever giving and ever loving, would rather the Ranger be safe and well than himself.

“Why have you come?”

“To say goodbye,” he told the laegel, thinking to himself, _And to free you of your promise to live._

“Elladan, Elrohir.” Glorfindel cleared his throat. “It is time to go.”

“Have you prepared for your journey, Lord Glorfindel?” the captain asked, walking with the commander from the library. “I will find a stable hand to prepare your horses, my Lord.” Aragorn soon lost track of what they said, for he was waiting for Elladan and Elrohir to speak their piece before asking for time alone with Legolas.

Sitting beside the Prince, his twin on the opposite side, Elladan embraced the laegel along with Elrohir, his voice husky as he told his friend, “We will see you again, Greenleaf, when this has passed.”

 _When_ I _have passed, he means,_ the Ranger amended, knowing that Thranduil would not want the twins to visit Mirkwood until Aragorn had died, whether by old age or sickness, as assurance that no contact between the Prince and Ranger would occur. Aragorn’s life was short in comparison to the time that the twins and laegel had been friends, and would be a short wait for them to see each other again, although a long time when compared to the usual frequent visits to which they were accustomed.

Watching the exchange, however, the Ranger realized that Elladan was right. Though the Wood-Elf had agreed to avoid Aragorn, this oath did not extend to Elladan and Elrohir, not for evermore. It comforted him to know that even should he never see the laegel again, the twins would be able to continue their friendship, and that Legolas would not have lost his two closest companions outside of himself. However, it also burned the Ranger to see the twins able to touch the Prince, when Aragorn ached to hold the laegel, to wrap his own arms around his fading lover.

“Send word to us, Legolas,” Elrohir asked of the laegel, settling his cheek against the Wood-Elf’s shoulder. “Ada will want to know of how you are healing; else, he’ll storm Eryn Galen’s gates to make sure the healers here are treating you properly,” the younger twin told the Prince, his brother in all but blood, with a smile.

“I will.” Legolas’ return smile and gaze was only for Estel. When the twins released the laegel, the slender body lurched forward, and instinctively the Ranger’s hands shot out to keep the Wood-Elf from falling. He caught himself, though, at seeing Legolas’ eyes widen and his body rapidly twist backwards, away from Aragorn. The movement must have hurt the laegel, for he gasped.

“Greenleaf?” Elladan queried.

Neither twin had seen the Ranger’s movement or the Wood-Elf’s subsequent reaction, but they had heard the Prince’s pained gasp. Legolas only shook his head, saying, “It is nothing.”

Elladan stood, crossed in front of the kneeling Ranger to his twin, and helped the weeping Elrohir to stand. They looked down at the Prince, who merely smiled sadly up at them, before the two Noldor walked towards the door and away from the laegel.

 _How can we just leave him here? I have asked Legolas not to leave me but I leave him instead._ Although it could have been from his sickness, or from his exhaustion, the Ranger felt nauseous at the thought of fleeing Mirkwood, and therefore Legolas, when the Elf needed him the most. _There is no other way,_ he told himself. _Not now. That does not mean there is not hope._

But there would be no hope, not if the Wood-Elf continued as he did – benumbed. Legolas’ grief would consume him if he did not face it, as would the numbness; of this, the Ranger was certain. The Adan was still hesitant, however, about how to ensure Legolas’ well-being, but thought, _Should he die, it would be what is best for him, and not what is best for me, or the twins, or Thranduil._ Selfishness welled within him, his longing to have Legolas with him always, to be abandoned by the laegel never, and to hold the Silvan to his promise never to leave him. He cast these desires aside, reminding himself, _You think as Thranduil does. You are concerned only with what Legolas’ death will do to you. For him, it might be best._ The Ranger shook his head at his thoughts, unaware of the others watching him.

“Brother?’ The twins stood at the door, waiting for him. “It is time, Estel.”

“Just a moment,” he told the twin, promptly receiving a warning glare from them both. For good measure, the Ranger rose, backing away from the Wood-Elf slightly as he added with what he hoped was a heartening smile, “I would like to speak with Legolas without spectators. Just a moment.”

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Legolas watched with trepidation as the twins nodded as one and then left, though they stood just beyond the doorway, speaking quietly to each other.

“Goodbye, Estel,” he told the human, not knowing what else to say. He did not want to lie to the Ranger, to tell his lover that they might be together again one day, or that he would be fine.

The Ranger smiled and stood, not having spoken whatever it was he had wanted to say. Given the circumstances, Legolas dismissed this and the Ranger’s strange behavior. Aragorn walked to the door, his step as indecisive as the expression on his face when he looked back to Legolas. The Wood-Elf was torn. He did not want the Ranger to leave – scar or not – because he could not accept that he would never see the human again. However, the very presence of the Ranger in the room undermined his effort to retain his detachment, and Legolas would be glad for the Adan to leave, if only so that Estel would not see the laegel disintegrate.

“Come, Estel,” the younger twin prompted, and at first, it seemed that the Ranger would comply. As he stood in the doorway, his back to the Prince, the human wavered.

 _He has not said goodbye,_ the Prince realized, though not aware of why this should be so.

Glancing at the Wood-Elf once more, the indecision on Estel’s face left, leaving only determination. Before either twin could reach the Ranger, Estel took the doorknob in hand and stepped smartly out of the way as he slammed the library door shut. Immediately, one of the twins turned the knob to enter. The door was pushed open a bit, but Aragorn rammed his shoulder into it, grabbed for the key in its keyhole, and turned it the moment the door hit the doorjamb. Aragorn faced Legolas, the sound of the twins pounding on the door, turning the knob uselessly, a backdrop to the bewilderment that the laegel felt.

_What is he doing?_

Walking swiftly away from the locked door, which vibrated as the twins struck it, Aragorn made his way to Legolas, telling him, “I’m sorry.” Confused, the laegel tried to stand, to question, to evade the Ranger when he knelt again before him, oblivious, it seemed, to the shouts of the Elves outside the library or Legolas’ attempts to avoid him. “I am sorry, Greenleaf,” the human told the laegel again.

Aragorn reached out, grabbed the injured Prince by his forearms, and drew him down to the floor with him. Legolas cried out in misery and agony as he was wrenched from his preserving numbness, forced into feeling by Estel’s unrelenting, loving embrace. 


	50. Chapter 50

Aragorn had no sooner wrapped his arms around the Wood-Elf than Legolas began to twist his arms and legs, crying out in pain as he did so.

“Calm, please,” the Ranger told the laegel, though what he asked was too much for the Wood-Elf to give. “You injure yourself further. Please calm.” The laegel’s struggles had exposed the Prince’s wounded body, for he wore nothing under his now unfastened robe. “I love you, Greenleaf,” he told the laegel, hugging the moaning Prince to him, trying desperately to subdue the Wood-Elf’s thrashing limbs with his own legs so that Legolas would not pull free the stitching on his thigh.

The Wood-Elf’s struggles were growing weaker, his whimpers of agony becoming stronger. “Let go, Estel, please,” the Wood-Elf begged, and Aragorn nearly complied, for the Prince sounded so tortured, so afraid, that the Ranger would give anything to relieve his lover of this pain he bore.

But he did not remove his hold, and taking his lessons learnt from Glorfindel’s impassable hold of the Ranger earlier, when trying to keep Estel from killing the merchant, the Ranger slid his arms over the laegel’s, trapping the Prince's threshing hands against his sides. Legolas had been attempting to gain purchase on the couch behind them, to pull himself away from his lover’s embrace.

“Elrohir! Elladan!” the broken laegel shouted to the twins outside the library.

Hearing the Prince’s call for help, the beating at the door halted immediately, before the twins began to yell to Aragorn, begging him as Legolas did to release the Prince, to open the door.

 _I cannot do this,_ he despaired. The betrayal of the Wood-Elf’s trust and the potential consequences of what might happen should he be wrong in this endeavor undermined his resoluteness. He ignored the twins’ shouts and Legolas’ sorrow, which wrenched sobs from the laegel’s trembling body.

“Let go, please.”

Toiling for a few more moments to be free of the Ranger’s arms, the laegel stopped moving, his chest heaving with the last of his strength expended. Aragorn began; he spoke quickly, hoping that Legolas would hear him through the shouts of the twins at the door. “You promised me. You told me that you would not leave me –”

“I am trying,” the Wood-Elf interrupted, bucking feebly a final time to break Aragorn’s embrace. The Ranger’s grasp did not relent; he twisted the Elf’s body to him, facilitating the Prince in sitting, though he had the laegel sitting in his lap, rather than on the floor. He wanted as much contact with the Wood-Elf as possible, for he could not be sure how numb the Prince was or what it would take to eradicate it. “You do not understand,” the Elf rued.

“I understand. I know what this does to you,” he admitted, feeling his Greenleaf wilt in his arms at this knowledge. The Elf became limp, allowing the Ranger to move him so that the Silvan was sprawled comfortably across the Ranger’s lap. He explained to the Wood-Elf rapidly, “I do not want to hurt you. I do not want you to suffer, my love. You must trust me.”

“Then leave me be, Estel,” the Prince pled, his voice now as weak as his body. “I trust you,” he whispered, his voice barely carrying to the Ranger, “but do not do this. Please.”

“No, Legolas. I am sorry. I promised you I would never force you to do that which you did not desire, but I cannot keep this promise, my love,” he told the Elf.

Glancing briefly at the library’s entrance as a particularly hard thud erupted from it, the Ranger realized, _They are trying to break down the door. I must be quick._ Holding the laegel under his arms, the Ranger dragged the inert but sentient Legolas from the library and to the balcony. He laid the Prince carefully on his side on the stone patio, leaving him there for the time it took Aragorn to close the balcony’s doors. _I need him to hear only me,_ the Ranger told himself, though his own fortitude was beginning to wane harshly in the presence of the twins’ constant shouts and their pounding of the door.

What the twins would do once they gained entrance into the room he did not bother to consider; nothing Elladan or Elrohir could do to their human brother would be worse for Aragorn than seeing Legolas lifeless and unresponsive as he tried desperately to cling to the sustaining numbness. In the short time he had left the Prince on the veranda’s floor, Estel could see that the Elf was trying to regain his composure and deadened torpor.

He had to bring the laegel fully from this numbness, but it would mean nothing if he only left the Elf to suffer his grief alone and without hope. Aragorn settled onto the stone beside the subdued laegel, gathering his lover devotedly into his arms. With Legolas’ back against Estel’s chest, the pair sat together by the railing. The twins’ shouts and battering of the door had stopped, but Aragorn knew better than to believe they had ceased their efforts to gain entrance into the library.

“Some promises should not be kept, Legolas, because they should not have been made,” he spoke directly into the Prince’s ear. “Do not live for me. I break my promise to you by forcing you to face your grief. If you must, Legolas, break your promise to me. Do not live if it is your desire to die.”

Legolas said nothing in response; this in itself nearly dissolved the Ranger’s intentions, for though he had given the Wood-Elf the leeway to decide his fate without the constraint of his oath to Aragorn, the Ranger hoped with all his mortal being that the Elf would not choose death. “You are strong, Greenleaf, but if you do not survive this, it is not weakness,” he continued, speaking softly into the Elf’s ear. “You are not weak. You are strong. And your father is strong. He would survive your death. And the twins,” the Ranger rambled, uncertain where his locution was headed, but seeking to assure the laegel should he long to fade, “the twins would grieve, but they have father, and me.”

“Why do you say these things?” the Elf asked quietly, laying his head on the Ranger’s arm when he had not the strength to hold it upright any longer. “Why do you wish me to die?”

Aragorn gasped at the idea of Legolas believing he would yearn for the laegel to pass. “I do not wish you to die, unless that is what you desire. It is not you who would abandon us, Legolas. It is we who have abandoned you,” the Ranger whispered, admitting his own fault in what the Wood-Elf had endured less in words and more in the raw emotion with which he spoke. “We have left you to linger in your despair so that you would not fade, so that we would not lose you.”

The Wood-Elf was quiet, as was the library other than the faint whisperings of the twins and others at the locked door. They could not see the sunrise from here, for this side of the mountain was cast in its own shadow. However, stretched out before them was the murky forest, the verdant woods slowly lightening as the sun rose behind the mountain of Thranduil’s palace. He imagined different conditions, less dire, and less painful circumstances, where he and Legolas would be sitting on this balcony, without fear of death or Thranduil, alone and in love.

 _Finish this,_ he told himself, extirpating this seedling dream before it could take root in his consciousness and bog him in its cloying misery.

“Feel me, Greenleaf, not with your body,” he told the Prince, holding the now unresisting Elf against him with his arms around the laegel’s chest. He promptly tucked the Prince’s head under his chin, the bloodied blond hair sticky against Aragorn’s throat. Holding his hand over Legolas’ chest, pressing his palm to the Silvan’s heart, he told his Wood-Elf, “I love you, Greenleaf. Even if I am not here, I will love you. In Mandos’ Halls or in Valinor, you will feel my love for you, and when I die, this love will not perish with me.” He bent forward, kissing the top of the laegel’s head before laying his cheek on it. “My love is always with you, Legolas, even if I am not.”

The Ranger did not need to ask the Wood-Elf to know of the grief hidden within him, for though he was no Elf himself, the human could sense the welling sorrow within his lover and knew that his aim was accomplished.

Legolas was fading.

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As he lay in his lover’s arms, Legolas recalled his Minyatar’s words, spoken to him many days ago while in Imladris. He spoke them to himself as the Ranger held him, telling himself, _Let Estel be your salvation, as you will one day be his._ The estrangement he felt was vanished, replaced by such terror that the laegel screamed silently and thrashed without moving, his body unwilling to respond to this internal struggle, for his corporeal existence was suddenly unimportant when faced with his soul’s despair. His faer and his rhaw, severed in the wake of the merchants’ vile deeds, now held onto each other as tightly as the Ranger did the Wood-Elf.

Legolas did not manufacture this response; this survival seemed to be instinctive. Aragorn had released the Wood-Elf of his promises, of his oath to live for the Ranger, and though he would break his word to the twins and his father when he died, Legolas no longer cared – he could not bear the torment. If he was to be Estel’s salvation, if obtaining the Ranger’s freedom from the dungeons was of what Lord Elrond spoke, then Aragorn’s liberation of the Prince from his promises was the human’s act of salvation.

He could feel everything. Legolas was overcome with the agony of his injuries – the nauseating ache of his mangled thigh, the constant ache of his bruised and beaten body, the more insidious pain of his lower body’s recline on the hard, stone floor. He felt Aragorn as the Ranger held him, he felt the pain that the Ranger’s hold caused his agonized flesh, and moreover, the laegel felt the anguish of his grief, the pitiful attempts of his faer to remain on Arda, not to flee to the safety of death. Body and mind were no longer split – the Wood-Elf did not exist in merely one or the other. Had he been well, had he not been grieving, the simple union of body and soul would have caused the laegel joy, for so long had he fled them both that feeling them so completely joined now made Legolas whole as he had not been for many weeks. The Ranger’s touch drew him together, as it always had, though this time the union was more complete in the submission of his will to grief. His emotions rushed to the forefront from where he had cast them aside. The heartache would be ignored no longer.

Through all of this Legolas felt more than pain and despair. The Wood-Elf could feel the Ranger’s love for him. From in the library, where the clinking of the key turning in the door told the Prince that the Noldor had found his head sentry Kalin, who held the only key to the Prince’s seldom-locked rooms, came more worry and love, bathing him, cleaning him of the hatred and sorrow in a way that no punishment, no water, and no one’s touch had ever done. He was forgiven, he was unsoiled, and as he had thought, it was his death that would bring about this resolution. The scar was silent but the blinding, excruciating pain of his grief screamed to him, beseeching him to end this suffering by willingly ending his life.

More shapes hovered over him, two dark-haired and two light-haired ones. _Elladan, Elrohir, Kalin,_ the Prince decided, squinting his eyes to see the fourth Elf before his vision blackened entirely. _And Glorfindel. I recognize his angry glower._

Legolas tried to smile, for he was content, at least, to be surrounded by Elves whom he loved while his grief took him. The Ranger was no longer holding him. He could feel someone else taking him from the human, knew that he spoke, though whom it was and what he told the laegel, the Prince could no longer fathom.

Legolas closed his eyes a final time and let himself fade – slipping away from the pain and grief, and away from those whom he had promised not to abandon.

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Aragorn stood behind the four Elves, his eyes always on Legolas’ closed eyes, waiting for the cerulean orbs to open again, to give him some sign that he had not killed the Wood-Elf. Kalin held his Prince, tears streaming down his face at the sight of the laegel. Legolas appeared no worse than he had when Estel had first entered the library less than half an hour ago, but the Elves could sense what the Ranger knew only because he was the one that had incited it – the Prince was surrendering his faer to sorrow.

“What did you do, Estel? Why? Why have you done this?” Kalin asked, not hiding his murderous belligerence for the Ranger.

He had no answer for the sentry. He could not tell Kalin that he had chanced his Prince’s life; and so, he said nothing, leaving the silence awkward.

When he saw he would get no response, the sentry stood with the Wood-Elf in his arms. “I will take him to his rooms and send for the healers,” Kalin told the twins, hefting his Prince’s light form to increase his hold of him as he walked. “You must all leave soon. The King is waiting for your departure.”

The twins did not wish to leave. They looked between the Prince and Estel, torn between staying with the laegel and leaving with their adopted brother. However, the twins were not welcome to stay in Mirkwood, and despite their desire to see their friend well, Kalin was right, and the twins would have to go.

Elladan sighed, rubbing his own tears from his eyes with one hand as he offered, “Let us help you get him settled, Kalin.”

The elder twin said nothing to his human brother as he shoved him out of the way to follow the sentry and Prince from the patio, nor did Elrohir speak as he trailed his twin. No, it was Glorfindel who expressed his displeasure at the Ranger’s actions. The commander stepped to the human, their faces mere inches apart as the Elf hissed, “Elladan warned you not to touch him, Estel.” As he was dragged from the balcony, through the library and out into the hallway by the arm, the Ranger did not resist. He truly did not want Glorfindel to knock him unconscious, though the golden Elf seemed on the verge of this despite Aragorn’s obeisance. Abruptly stopping in the hallway, the commander spun the Ranger around, seething in a quiet voice, “So help me Eru. Estel, if you have killed the Prince with this stunt, I will personally deliver you back to Thranduil’s dungeons myself.”

The Ranger did not argue; he merely stared dumbly at the commander, thinking, _If I have killed him, then I will deliver_ myself _to Thranduil’s dungeons._ From down the corridor, the twins exited the laegel’s bedroom, hesitantly, grudgingly walking towards where the human and elder Elf stood.

“We should leave immediately,” Glorfindel ordered, which incited the twins to walk faster to them, but the commander and Ranger did not wait for the two Noldor to reach them, and were already half walking, half running down the winding hallway.

The commander’s hand was always on him, guiding him with rough shoves and yanks through the corridors, steps, through doors, out of the palace, and to the courtyard where their horses and supplies waited for them. The entire journey from Legolas’ library to the courtyard seemed instantaneous to the Ranger, for he could see nothing, could think of nothing but the lifeless eyes of his lover before the azure orbs had finally glazed over, and then closed.

 _Legolas will prevail,_ he told himself. _He will survive, but he will not return to his numbness, nor fade from his grief._

They would leave without fanfare or ceremony – not that the Noldor or Ranger required any such show. However, as Aragorn climbed upon his horse in the courtyard, he noted that one Elf had come to see them off, at least. Thranduil stood on the steps, his arms crossed over his mighty chest. The King appeared no less drunk than before, but he had bathed and his hair and robes were befitting his stature this morning, giving no indication of what had occurred this night, only hours ago.

Mounting his own horse, Elrohir glared momentarily at the Ranger before his anger fled, leaving only sorrow in its place when he turned his gaze to Elladan and Glorfindel, saying quietly, “Let us go before Thranduil hears what Estel has done.”

Elrohir did not make explicit why this would be necessary, but it was clear nonetheless; if Thranduil knew that the Ranger had visited the Prince, Aragorn would be returned to the dungeons. If the King became aware of what the human had done to his son, thrusting him back into his despair before leaving Legolas to die, Thranduil would likely have the Ranger’s head – for spite, even if not out of concern for his son.

None spoke further and none offered goodbyes to their royal onlooker. Glorfindel led them from the stone court, his pure white stallion swishing its long tail as it walked before them. Aragorn kept his head down, watching the ground under his horse’s feet as they ambled over the bridge of the Forest River. The twins’ and Glorfindel’s ire lapped at him, the waves of their confusion buffeting the quickly eroding wall of resolve he had erected while speaking to the Prince.

_If Legolas should live, he will never forgive me for what I have done._

The twins would never forgive the Ranger should Legolas die, and perhaps not even if he lived, for they had been forced to leave their Woodland friend while the Prince was suffering, and Aragorn had exacerbated the laegel’s condition. They did not know his reasons for doing as he had and would likely extract these reasons from him later, when they would barrage him with questions and accusations concerning it. He did not look forward to this. The twins were angry with him but they were also worried about Legolas – they would not care to understand his intentions, even should he try to tell them.

Forcing the Wood-Elf to feel his grief may have been in the laegel’s best interests, but it was not Aragorn’s choice to make – he understood this. He may have stolen the Elf’s life as easily as the merchants had taken the Prince’s innocence. _I have raped him as much as Kane, or Sven or Cort. While they marred his body, I have ravaged his soul._

He did not care what the others thought of him or if they hated him forever, if only Legolas would live, if it meant that the Wood-Elf survived. The Ranger tried to convince himself, _He will be better off. He will be relieved of his grief, whether by death or deliverance._

Estel would not see the Wood-Elf again, but he did not forsake hope. As he had told the laegel, Aragorn would always be with him, if not in body, then in spirit, and Legolas would be happier, he would be well, and he would be free – one way or the other. 


	51. Chapter 51

Images and their accompanying sensations came to him in random order, out of place and disjointed. He was walking contentedly through the protected forest around Imladris, telling the solemn but chatty Estel beside him the different names of the trees that they passed. The human, only a child at the time, had feigned interest in the Prince’s locution, and this, more than anything, had amused Legolas. Even as a child, Aragorn had always sought to protect the Wood-Elf’s feelings. Sunlight spread over them as it peeked through the voluminous pale clouds that stretched out over the expanse of blue, the soft tufts drifting in the winds overhead. The Adan had spoken to him of the Rangers and how he one day wanted to roam Arda as they did.

 _We slept by the river that night,_ the Prince recalled, shifting unconsciously in his bed, unaware of his true surroundings, for he waded through his memories, through his mind. _And then it began to rain._ Mundane details, trivial items of little importance then came to him now, suffusing his thought with the acuity of their elegant simplicity. The sharp smell of the dew-laden grass, the sunrise playing lambently on the blades as upon waking the next morning, Legolas found that unlike he had expected, the young human had managed to remain awake for his watch over the campsite. He could recall Estel’s hands, unmarred and still soft, as they worked to wipe the mud clean from his boots, the thick dirt falling free from the human’s shoes only to stain those pale, untrained hands.

Back then, the Prince had loved the human as a friend, of course, but he had enjoyed watching the human grow, had spent more time in Imladris to see the Adan as he changed from the unhewn youth with untrammeled curiosity to a carven Ranger whose intellect and knowledge of the wilds made him wise beyond his years. The young man’s white, soft hands had become calloused and stained with soil. Estel’s gangly body had hardened to that of a seasoned warrior. After several years of not seeing the human at all, Legolas had traveled to Rivendell to visit the twins and had then seen Aragorn – he had not believed the young human who had once laughed with him, cleaning mud from his boots by the river, was now the scruffy, unkempt, and decidedly hairier Ranger who greeted him with his two Elven brothers at the gates. However, when the human had seized him, hugging him in greeting as he would have as a child, Legolas had felt a different joy to see the Adan. Although the human’s body had changed, their friendship had not, and had never waned in the years since.

He tried to keep his mind on these thoughts, of this barely suppressed exaltation to remember the Ranger – his mind had other thoughts, however, which effervesced to the forefront of his remembrance, and unwillingly, Legolas saw his memories of Aragorn fade. Other recollections took the place of his memories of Estel. Legolas was pressing his forehead against a barrel, the rough wood reeking of wine. He was nude, in agony at what the humans had forced upon him, and waiting what seemed an eternity for the three merchants to return, to harm him further, or to kill him. No light entered the backroom of Kane’s shop except in the form of a sliver of daylight that crept under the closed door to the shop’s front room.

The Elf caught himself trying to deny it, to push away the distress these memories brought. _Estel,_ he thought. _Remember Estel._

He struggled to bring back the image of the human, to remember the Ranger’s piquant scent, or how his wayward hair curled against the sides of his bearded face, but his mind, too long denied confronting thoughts of his abuse, and his heart, too sorrowed to fight against them, wallowed in the anguish of his imaginings. He was in the backroom, listening to the merchants laughing, teasing each other, talking about the Wood-Elf and the pain they could cause him. He felt it – the fear of what they would do and the utmost desire to slip into unconsciousness, to die. Even now, Legolas coveted the same ideations, seizing the proffered asylum as his mind took him back, forcing him to remember the terror he had felt when the sounds of the merchants footsteps had grown closer, the thin daylight slipping through the cracks of the door became wider, and the three merchants had walked within.

But instead of numbness or death, another memory surfaced. Legolas sat in the low branch of a tree to watch the two Elves sitting on the blanket beneath him. His father was reclining on his side, his head lying in the Queen’s lap. His Naneth stroked his Ada’s forehead, their conversation light and without meaning to the Elfling watching from above them. The melody of his mother’s laughter came from below. It was the same as the sound of the reed chimes his mother had once hung on the veranda – low and tumbling. It was a time when there was still joy in the King’s heart – before the King had spitefully begun to squash the delectation left within Legolas. This day, as many others like it in the Silvan’s memory, held no particular significance; however, the very young Prince had felt wanted that day when his father had called to him, bidding him to climb out of the tree and join his parents on the blanket. And when he had, when he had left the cherry tree in which he had been sitting happily, climbing carefully down it so not to destroy the sweet smelling flowers that would later provide him with fruit as he played in the garden, Legolas remembered plopping to the ground beside his parents and being quickly enveloped in a hug from them.

As he weltered in the safety and comfort of this image, of being with his parents and knowing with a child’s assurance that he would always be loved and safe, and when this refuge bolstered the Prince’s desire to live, he suddenly no longer saw his father and mother together in the garden. Instead, he was staring at the floor in Thranduil’s study, listening to the rant of his King, who was listing his many complaints for Legolas. He had failed his father again, had dishonored his mother’s memory by allowing some of the Orcs his scouting group had been chasing to flee from the forest. The abuse had begun this way – with words, not fists. The King had always found fault within his son, for he had always demanded more than the Wood-Elf could ever have given, setting his expectancy of Legolas’ talents and duty to beyond anything Thranduil himself had ever exceeded at that age.

What rents to the Prince’s dignity Thranduil would make, Legolas’ Naneth had always soothed, and his thoughts turned to her, as did his memories. After his father had screamed at him, the Prince sought the ghost of his mother in her library, her presence lingering there as she had so often lingered there before she died. He had been comforted by the mere memory of her company as he sat on the balcony. Now, as it had then, Legolas was consoled by this, for though his Naneth was gone, she was not forever lost to him. He remembered the sound of her laughter, her habit of pushing her golden hair behind her ears when frustrated with something her husband had done or said. He could feel the gentle touch of her hands as they straightened his tunic before meeting with the King for the evening meal or just to touch him, to smooth away the worry present on Legolas’ face as he toiled in his early childhood years to please his father.

Thranduil had once touched his son in such a way – with love, with affection – until the Queen had died. Then the King’s countenance had soured permanently. Then his father had only touched him to strike him, to show his displeasure when his words no longer seemed to hold sway over his son.

Voices from outside his room became louder, their intensity increasing with their anger, cutting through the thick of his grief to reach him where he hid beneath his memories. He could not tell who argued with Thranduil, but that his father was one of the voices was clear. Legolas could have picked his Ada’s enraged tone out from amongst a hundred Elves speaking at once, as he had so often heard his father speak in anger.

Legolas swam closer to consciousness. He did not wish to be insentient with his father nearby. Although he willed himself to disengage from his ponderings and memories, his struggles seemed only to incite new torment for him. No memory was attached to this awful rendering of events, for they were his nightmares taking over in his waking mind.

The merchant was laughing. He could smell Kane’s fetid breath, the same sickeningly vinegary odor as Thranduil’s aroma when the King was besotted. He could feel the man’s hands upon him, touching him and sliding his filthy fingers through the Elf's hair and over his skin. Legolas tried to pry Kane’s hands away, but found he could not move his arms. He could only lie there, waiting for the man to abuse him. He now kept his eyes tightly shut. He did not want to open them again. He did not want to see the merchants’ faces, did not want to acknowledge their presence. If he pretended he was not there, if he could convince himself not to feel, then the fragile ablution granted him would not be soiled.

 _Do not do this. Do not fight it,_ he told himself. _Let it take you so that you can heal… or so that you can fade._

He shook himself, trying to free his body of the sensation of the hands touching him, but Legolas found his arms immobile, and from fear, the laegel was suddenly fully awake.

He could feel the soft cloth wrapped around his wrists. Too weak to struggle against it, the Wood-Elf wondered at his immobility. The diffuse light of a fading evening lit the room, reflecting off the polished furniture, but he was still dark as to why he could not move, for he could not bring his arms from under the blankets to see what held him.

 _I am tied to the bed,_ he finally decided, giving the binds a final, ineffectual tug. _They likely think I am too crazy to be allowed free._

The blank, white ceiling of the bare, carved rock overhead was already bored into his memory. He had stared at it often as a young Elfling lying abed with his Naneth, listening to her sing or watching her brush her hair. He had since then seen the same ceiling every morning he had stayed in Eryn Galen, waking in what was now his bed.

 _I would that Naneth were here,_ the laegel thought, letting his uninterested gaze wander the vaulted ceiling – he closed his eyes, however, to press away the moisture that had gathered there, as he was unable to wipe it away with his hands. _If Naneth were here now, she would be ashamed of me._

His fair-haired King walked through the door, bustling across the room in a rage while muttering under his breath. In Thranduil’s arms were blankets and towels, so many piled up that Legolas could barely see the King’s face as he threw his burden to the chair beside the bed. Watching his father fold the towels and wondering at what state of drunkenness it required for the King to perform a duty that the servants would normally undertake, the laegel hesitated to speak, to draw his father’s attention.

“Untie me, Ada, please,” he beseeched in a whisper, his hoarse words impossible to make out, but the King heard him speak.

Thranduil stopped arranging the towels and dropped them to the floor carelessly in order to reach his son; the King settled onto the bed next to the Prince, studying the laegel’s battered face. “Legolas? What is it? What do you need?”

“Untie me, Ada, please,” Legolas tried again, tugging at his arms. The feeling of being bound was too much for him to bear in his waking.

“The healers have done this,” he told the laegel, laying his hand hesitantly on his son’s forehead. Grimacing down at the younger Elf, the King explained, “They feared you would hurt yourself.”

_He knows then what I have done to my thigh. He may know of the scar then. Let Kalin not have told him of it. I do not want him to know I am mad._

Legolas closed his eyes. Thranduil’s panicked demand caused him to open them again. “No, stay awake. You have slept all the day. I would not lose you to your nightmares again, Legolas.” The blankets atop him were lifted, the soft coverings cast aside as the King explained, “You have thrashed and screamed, writhing in your sleep, my son, and the healers did not wish you to aggravate your wounds.” One by one, the King untied the knots in the cloths holding Legolas’ arms to the bed, leaving the strip of fabric tied to the underpinning frame beneath the mattress.

Pulling Legolas by his arm, the King yanked the Prince roughly into sitting, and then insinuated himself behind the younger Elf. Thranduil laid his back against the headboard, cushioned by the many pillows there, so that he could sit comfortably with his son propped against him. “How did this injury come about, my son? Did the merchant mangle your leg thusly?”

 _Then he does not know of the scar or my madness._ Legolas said nothing; he was too tired to speak, much less listen, and so relaxed into his father’s embrace, relieved that none had told the King his progeny had lost his sanity.

Sighing, the King wrapped his arms around Legolas, soothing timidly, “There will be time for answers later, Legolas. There will be time for you to tell me what has happened. The human is gone, as are the meddling Noldor. The merchants are dead, Legolas, there are none to hurt you now.”

Speaking so softly as if he spoke to himself, rather than the young Elf he held, Thranduil whispered, “Another chance. Do not leave me without giving me another chance, Legolas.” Letting loose a broken moan, the King then wailed, again more to himself than to the Prince, “Can I do nothing right?” For a moment the King merely wept, his body shaking the Silvan’s slighter form with his sobs. “Do not leave me, my son. Do not abandon me as your mother did,” the King intonated sharply, his hold on Legolas tightening.

His father wanted Legolas to keep his promise still. The King wanted his son to live, although he had made clear so often before that he wished the laegel would die. _It does not matter,_ Legolas told himself.Although pained at the Ranger’s forcing him to face his grief, the laegel understood the human’s intent, and while he might have been angry that Aragorn had broken his promise, the Prince found he was not. He did not have the energy for anger. _I will not live for Ada. I will not live for Estel or the twins,_ he promised himself, feeling so liberated by the simple statement such that he added, _I will die if I desire to._

The King thought that Legolas had slipped back into reverie; after clearing his throat, the weeping Thranduil began to sing. Hoarse with both his tears and disuse, as he had not sang in many years, his father’s voice carried to the Prince in his troubled thinking.

How long he had wished for such comfort from his father. How long he had only wanted to be loved. And now, like the child in his dreams, the Prince felt safe. His father wanted him, his father loved him, and he was absolved of his guilt and shame. It was not enough to rekindle the gift of life inside him, for the flame Eru had instilled within all living creatures was flickering in the cold draught of Legolas' sorrow, dampened by his longing to die, but his father’s love and the scar’s silence was enough for now. 


	52. Chapter 52

They had stopped to give their horses a break, to allow their mounts to graze along the relative safety of the much traveled, but well hidden road out of the Great Forest. The night was nearly over. Eerily devoid of light, nighttime in the tainted woods would have been frightening for anyone not accustomed to the creaking of the large and warped trees as they moved in the winds, the shadows flitting above head in the branches, and the other, indiscriminate noises made by creatures that were no less identifiable. Soon the sun would rise but the forest would become no lighter – at least, not until they had passed closer to the outer fringes of Mirkwood.

Because they had wished to leave Eryn Galen’s palace as soon as possible in an effort to avoid Thranduil’s wrath, should he find out what the Ranger had done to his son, the foursome had made good time in the last day, which both relieved and vexed Aragorn. It was never wise to dawdle in one’s travel through Mirkwood, but each hour took him farther from Legolas. He would have preferred to linger. Estel still held hope that something would occur that would take him back to the Prince or bring the Elf to him; however, as each moment slipped away, so too had the Ranger’s hope. He would not see this forest, much less the Prince within, ever again.

It seemed that the twins had found this day of travel as hard as the Ranger had, and realized as Aragorn had the finality of departing Mirkwood, of leaving Legolas with his grief and troubles. For all they knew, the Prince could have faded; the uncertainty of this was draining the stoicism the twins had maintained through their journey thus far, for while Elladan and Elrohir were clearly incensed at their human brother’s actions, they had yet to confront him. As Aragorn removed his bags from his mare’s back, setting them with his bow and quiver on the ground close to the others’ luggage, he could feel the twins’ animosity as easily as he could feel the dampness of the coming morning’s dew leaching into his flesh.

_They will not remain quiet for much longer, not now when we are beyond Thranduil’s immediate reach and out of earshot of the Mirkwood populace._

Aragorn’s whole body ached. He needed rest, he knew, but from the twins’ identical, dour expressions, they would first expurgate the festering anger they had thus far managed to quell in the necessity of fleeing Mirkwood posthaste. Elladan and Elrohir finished their unpacking, throwing their bags with his before walking to stand before him, the younger twin behind his elder twin.

Elrohir allowed his brother to speak for him when Elladan told the Ranger bluntly and without introduction, “You are an idiot, Estel.”

Aragorn looked to the commander, hoping that the elder Elf would cease this bickering before it truly started, but Glorfindel had taken to burnishing his already sharp sword with a whetstone. He would receive no aid from the commander. “I did what was best for Legolas,” the Ranger tried to tell the irate Noldo, but his heart was not in it and he did not care to argue. “I am tired brothers. Let us speak of this another time.”

 _You’ve the rest of my life to rebuke me for this,_ he added to himself.

Neither twin seemed concerned that their human brother could barely stand, as weary as he was. “What was best for him? And you decide what is best for Legolas?” the younger twin retorted, pacing behind Elladan in tight, irregular movements of his normally graceful limbs.

“Yes, what is best for him. Legolas now has the freedom to choose to live or die without the scar’s influence. It is what we discussed, Elladan, is it not? You told me that the scar may influence all of his thinking, not just his decisions when he chooses what we would have him choose.” Straightening his posture to keep himself aware, when his body longed for the sleep he had deprived it, the Ranger explained, “I gave him the chance to live for himself – not for me.”

“I did not tell you to take from him the last of his weaponry against his grief, the only defense he had against fading from his sorrow, dear brother,” the elder twin mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. The pale green of the Noldo's eyes seemed to flicker, to spark as a flint against pyrite as Elladan’s ire grew. “I told you to leave him be and this you did not do. I told you not to touch him, and even he begged that you not do so. How could you have held him down after he had only just been ravaged? How could you not be moved by his cries for help?” The elder twin inhaled sharply, his breath shaky as tears sprang to his eyes at the memory of Legolas pleading to them to save him from Aragorn, something that caused the Ranger to hang his head.

He was ashamed that he had needed to take this course for Legolas’ recovery, but he was not ready to admit defeat to the twins. _There was no other way,_ he told himself.

“He needed his numbness to survive and you have assured his death. You gave him no choice, but stole his choice from him,” the younger twin impugned, adding to the confusion of the two Elves ranting at their human brother when he gave the Ranger no opportunity to address one insult before another was hurled at him. Halting his pacing long enough to glare mordantly at the Adan, Elrohir ended in a shrill accusation, “You did this for yourself, Estel.”

Before he thought better of his words, and because he had grown tired of the twins’ condemnation, Aragorn growled, “It was you who wished to leave him in Mirkwood, Elladan. It was you who convinced me to do the same! And you would claim that I acted for myself? You have done nothing for him, brothers. How many years, Elrohir, have the both of you turned your back on him while he suffered under his father’s hatred?”

“That is unfair, Estel. Thranduil has never acted so irrationally towards Greenleaf and it has not been our place to interfere! We are his friends, not his keepers!” Elladan stood just before his human brother; the younger twin moved behind his elder. He fought the urge to step back from his brothers’ anger. “Legolas agreed to your leaving to save you from the dungeons. This is your doing, Estel. You killed the merchant. We would follow Legolas’ decisions because he is our friend and because we trust him to choose what is right for himself.”

“You, however,” Elrohir continued, glancing briefly at the commander, who was ignoring their boisterous argument blatantly, “you speak of loving Greenleaf but do not trust him! If Legolas lives, he will hate you. And if he does not, then…” the twin stopped himself from ending his statement, but the unspoken meaning was clear. His brothers would not forgive him for this, nor would they ever forget it.

 _I do not care if they hate me forever,_ Estel thought to himself with little conviction, studying the grass under his feet through eyes blurred by his tears. _I have done what is right._

He told his brothers as much, saying, “I do not care for your opinions. If Legolas lives and he hates me, then he is alive, and it will be because he has chosen to live. If my actions have killed him,” the Ranger said, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper as the accompanying images of the Prince struggling to be free of his hold in the library came to him with his words, “then none could hate me more than I. But if Legolas should die then it will be what is best for him, not what is best for me, and certainly not what is best for those whom he thought to be his friends.”

Elladan became deathly pale save for two bright, sanguine blurs of color across his cheeks – Elrohir appeared much the same, though his mouth had dropped open in shock at the Ranger’s allegation of the twins’ selfishness.

 _I do not believe I have ever seen him this angry,_ the Ranger thought, watching his Elven brother’s fist shoot out from his side. Aragorn might have evaded the blow had he tried, but instead he merely stood there, waiting for the inevitable impact.

And then came the pain; the elder Noldo’s fist landed with a noisy crack of bone against flesh, hitting the Ranger just under his eye. The Adan stumbled back a step. Retaining his balance only because the tree behind him kept the human from falling to the ground, Aragorn raised a hand to his face, quickly checking his nose to see if it had broken under Elladan’s hand.

Although it was Elladan who had struck him, the younger twin stood behind the elder Noldo with the same irascible and self-satisfied glower as his brother. They walked in tandem towards him, their taste for violence not yet sated.

“Enough,” Glorfindel insisted. His forceful demand caused both twins to stop moving, their obedience to their teacher’s instruction coming automatically to them. The commander laid aside the cloth he had used to polish his sword; Glorfindel did not stand, however, and merely declared from where he sat, “I do not wish to listen to you argue for the remainder of the journey home. What is done cannot be undone, no matter how we might wish it to be so,” the commander said, sliding his sword back within its sheath without looking in a practiced motion coming easily to the Balrog-slayer. “Elladan, Elrohir. Go find firewood.”

Not speaking, the twins backed away from the human and then stalked from the clearing, leaving Aragorn alone with the commander. Putting his back against the tree trunk, the Ranger let himself slide down it, though it shifted his coat uncomfortably and broke off bark into his hair. He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of Glorfindel treading silently across the campsite to him.

“I have killed him, Glorfindel, have I not?” He tried desperately not to doubt his actions. They had been swift and with little forethought – as he had not had time for any – but his intentions had been good. To his amazement, the commander laughed, and Aragorn opened his eyes, questioning Glorfindel’s good humor, and a little more than angered by it.

Towering over him, the golden Elf asked, “Elrond told me what he told Legolas. Did he tell you, Estel?” Not sure of what the commander spoke, the human shook his head and crossed his legs so that he could sit comfortably. “He told Greenleaf much what your brothers have said to you, what you have known. Legolas needed to face his grief, Estel. Perhaps it was not your place to choose this for the Prince, but had you not, Legolas would have died from either his sorrow or this numbness he uses to flee when he cannot face himself.”

The Elven commander continued to smile at the human, settling himself onto the rather comfortable grass under the tree beside which Estel sat. “Lord Elrond trusts too much to fate, forgetting that it is sentient beings that make fate happen, and not fate itself.” The oblique statement did not clear up the Ranger’s confusion, but the elder Elf’s encouragement suddenly made the strange sentiment more palatable, as Glorfindel added, “Your Ada knew that Legolas would survive this, Estel, for he knows that Legolas has a greater purpose in Middle Earth, as do you. However, with his usual lack of explanation, he would not say how or what would help the Prince, so it is left to us to decipher how to help your Greenleaf, and to trust providence to guide us.”

 _That is circular logic if I have ever heard it,_ the human thought, resting the back of his aching head against the tree trunk behind him. That his adopted father believed Legolas would survive eased the human’s fear for the Wood-Elf, though it did nothing to relieve his conscience. “And if perhaps his greater purpose is to die? What then?”

Glorfindel’s blond brows shot up in surprise as the commander admitted, “I do not know, Estel. But if Legolas was meant to die, then your actions would not have mattered, and the Prince would fade regardless of them. One cannot escape the eventuation of Eru’s song, for even should we try to work against it, we are truly working within it.”

As he had balked against fate, his own in particular, for his entire life since learning of his heritage and the eventual path he may be asked to follow, the heir to the throne of Gondor only thought, _Then I would have only managed to incite Legolas to hate me before he passed._ The soundless entry of the twins in the campsite evinced that the two Noldor had found the wood their teacher had asked them to acquire, but their quick return made the Ranger’s declining attention, an effect of his weariness, to rise once again. _They cannot be finished yelling at me._

Elladan tossed a few limbs onto the ground, which were then followed by Elrohir’s gathered supply of kindling, before both twins sat before the commander and Ranger. None moved to start a fire; Aragorn believed that none would be started that night. _Glorfindel sent them for firewood to separate us so that their fury could cool._ Eyeing the blood dripping freely from Estel’s nose, blood that the Ranger then self-consciously wiped away, a guilty Elrohir looked at his twin, and the Ranger was surprised by this. _They are regretful._

“I am sorry, Estel,” the elder twin stated straightforwardly. “I should not have hit you.”

“We have acted no better than Thranduil, brother,” the younger twin agreed, pulling to him by its strap a pack of supplies. Ninan and the Wood-Elves had seen that the Noldor were given plenty of food, bandaging, herbs, and other sundry necessities for their journey home. After a moment of rummaging through one such satchel, Elrohir extracted a bolt of cloth and passed it to Aragorn. “Here, Estel. Lean your head forward and hold your nose. We do not need you becoming sick from swallowing blood.”

The instructions were unnecessary, for the Ranger knew well how to care for such a wound, and the bleeding had already stopped. However, the Ranger nodded, appreciating Elrohir’s concern without giving his usual dry retort to the twins’ mothering.

Estel did not blame Elladan in the least for striking him. He did not accept his brother’s angered outburst because he deserved to be beaten but because it had apparently released some stale emotion that the twins had needed to release, and for this, he was glad. They would suffer the loss of their friend for eternity, should Legolas die, and it was not as if he and his brothers had never fought before.

“I am as much to blame as Estel for the merchant’s death,” the commander suddenly stated, telling the twins, neither of whom had been present for the Ranger’s attack on Kane, “because my own anger overwhelmed me, and I wished the human dead for his words against Legolas.” Picking up one of the sticks that the twins had brought for their fire, Glorfindel tore the smaller twigs from the branch in mindless motions. “Had I not let go of your brother when the merchant told us of his attack on the Prince, Estel would not have killed him.”

“It is well that the merchant is dead,” the younger twin confessed, wrapping his arms around his knees as he drew them to his chest. “Death is not a punishment that should be doled out without thought, but if any deserved it, Kane was due an early demise.”

Elladan sighed his agreement, his shoulders rising and falling greatly in the effort, the burden that the twins carried for their human brother, for their Greenleaf, and for their own blame in what had occurred, not needing to be said. The elder twin’s morose smile and second sigh said it all.

_One thing they have said is true – this is my fault. If I had stalled our lovemaking, if I had helped Legolas to face his grief rather than encourage him to ignore it to sate my lust, then perhaps Legolas would be well now, and we could have faced Thranduil without the hateful scar. We may have had a chance to convince him._

The sky was lightening. Dawn was coming, and though they had stopped for rest and food, the three Elves and human found neither rest nor any creature comforts as they waited for the night to end.

A tentative peace settled over them, however, though the Ranger was sure that the twins’ anger was not resolved, nor was his explanation for his actions, the commander’s strange assertion of the Prince’s well-being, or Aragorn’s guilty conscience.

None of this would ever be resolved for the Ranger, not until Aragorn knew that Legolas was well, and not until he could be with his lover again. 


	53. Chapter 53

“Wake my son.” The harsh tone of his father’s voice roused him instinctively, and the Prince at once opened his eyes the moment his body would obey his mind’s fretful command to heed his Ada and King’s order. His father loomed over him, his flaxen hair, a shade darker than Legolas’, shadowed the King’s face as he continued to shake his son by his shoulders, hissing in a whisper that if measured by its urgency and fear, should have been a scream, “Legolas. Wake Legolas.”

“Careful, King Thranduil,” an Elven voice intoned, its words weighted with the hauteur of one accustomed to having his advice followed. “We only need him to wake enough so that he does not choke.”

“No, healer. He is numb enough as it is,” a familiar voice argued, and then the holder of said voice came within the laegel’s blurry sight. His fair sentry stood at the bed by the healer with whom he argued. Boldly grasping the healer’s arm, Kalin stopped the elder Elf from giving the Prince whatever liquid in the ceramic cup that the healer was attempting to place at Legolas' lips. “He needs no more numbness, my Lord. Trust me. The Noldor have told me that –”

“The Noldor’s opinions mean nothing to me, Kalin. The Prince is in pain. I will not let him suffer,” the healer seethed, wresting his arm away from the sentry and lowering his head so that he faced Legolas, his dark head beside the King’s blond one in the Prince's field of vision. “Take this, my Prince; it will ease your pain.”

The Prince _was_ in pain; he was in such agony that he wished his father had not woken him. _What is wrong?_ he thought, his mouth parting to speak to his father, but no words would come forth. For a blissful, insentient moment, the laegel did not remember anything.

Without thought, he smiled hazily at his Ada, his mind obfuscated by the lingering remnants of his restive sleep and the torment of his body. Attempting to pull his arm from under the blanket atop him, to take whatever it was that the healer offered him, the Prince found he could not move them.

 _I have been injured in battle,_ he decided, before his memory supplied the reason why his father was in his bedroom and why his hands were once again tied to the bed. Aragorn had pulled the pieces of the Wood-Elf back together; with his mind rejoined to his body once more, there was no numbness behind which to hide from the agony that the Prince’s wounds gave him, nor any disengagement from the sorrow that ate away at his resolve to live.

_I fade._

“The Noldor are healers, as well, Mantolin, having learnt from Elrond the same as you,” the sentry argued with the elder Elf, “and they know more of the Prince’s injuries, and his grief, than we. You will only worsen his condition by giving him anything to numb his pain.”

The healer only glowered at Kalin as he stood upright to face the sentry, crossing his arms over his chest, the cup still in hand. “Legolas writhes in pain, Kalin. He has been moaning and screaming from it. This medicine has been used many times before, young one. It will not hurt him.”

The scar was quiet. The flesh over his thigh where the scar had lain was not. His gouged and shredded skin, the torn muscle, and the center of his sorrow seemed focused in a concert of agony over his wounded leg. He wanted the thick and vile substance the healer held. It would make him numb; it would keep him from feeling the supra-corporeal anguish. Without the scar’s voice but fully immersed in his grief, the laegel’s suffering was not just physical – with no more severance between his mind and body, and no longer able to call upon the detachment that had kept him from feeling the pain of his wounds and of his sorrow, the Prince struggled to remove his hands, to grab the cup the healer held.

_I cannot do this. I cannot endure this._

“King Thranduil,” the sentry tried to beseech his ruler when the healer could not be convinced, “the Noldor would not wish Legolas to fade, and I know that you do not doubt this. They are more experienced in these matters. They know what the Prince suffers. Do not give him anything that decreases his pain. He must feel his anguish if he is to conquer it, if he is not to die from grief.”

 _Kalin is right,_ he knew. _He has spoken with Ninan. Elrohir told Ninan these instructions in the library. He told him not to let them sedate me._ He tried to still his movements, to keep his body from betraying his pain, or to speak, to tell them what he needed. _But I do not want to feel this any longer._ This was the first step to his recovery. If he could bear this agony, he would live, but if he could not, or if he did not try, then he would certainly die.

Legolas wanted to live. He wanted to move, to be out of this room, to be amongst the trees, to hold his bow. _I must not have this lenitive._ He wanted anything other than to be tied to his bed, surrounded by pity, and wallowing in his shame and self-disgust. _I must feel._

“We had this argument last night, Kalin, though Eru granted him sleep before he needed any such medicines.” Thranduil shifted his seat on the bed, holding his hand under his son’s neck, in ready to lift Legolas so that he could drink, though he remained indecisive. Sighing, the King’s exhale drifted across the Wood-Elf’s face, and for the first time in a very long time, Legolas smelled no wine on Thranduil’s breath.

_He is sober._

His father finally shook his head, removing his hand and ordering, “Give him nothing for the pain. Elrond’s sons would know how to help Legolas, I agree. The Peredhel kept his wife alive after her grief almost claimed her – the Noldor must know better than we.”

The healer pursed his lips in unchecked irritation at his methods being questioned and his advice dismissed. “I can give you oil that will lessen the swelling, your Majesty, but it will not ease his suffering,” Mantolin said stiffly, his voice fading as Legolas slipped back into reverie, for he was too exhausted to continue trying to fight the agony or retain interest in their conversation.

In what seemed to be only moments later, the Prince’s restless slumber had fled. Wherever he was now, he was no longer in bed. Water lapped at his sides, at his toes, his hands, his arms, and everywhere that was not already submerged in the warm liquid – the air was just as warm as the water, and the acrid odor of burning wood, combined with the sweet aroma of soap oil, permeated his sense of smell. A rolled cloth, sopping wet from the liquid in which he lay, kept his head from resting against the hard floor of his bathing tub, and under his body were spread more towels, providing him with a cushion. The many towels and blankets the King had brought in the night before were under him now. Legolas knew it was his tub in which he lay, because when he opened his eyes he saw the recognizable water spout overhead, which was the only one of its kind in Thranduil’s palace.

 _Estel,_ he thought as his mind conjured the memory of the Ranger and he bathing in this tub only days before. Their worries forgotten for a brief time, the Elf and Ranger had bathed and then found pleasure together afterward. Legolas smiled at the memory. Someone was bathing him even now; someone was washing the blood from his hair, his own blood that he had spilt in this very tub. _How long ago was I lying here, waiting to die?_ Legolas’ weary eyes slid shut again as a hand slipped across his scalp, gently fingering the twin lumps there, one from Thranduil’s wine bottle, and the other from where his father had slung him repeatedly against the stone floor of his bedroom.

He could see the Ranger, could imagine his lover in his mind. He wanted to hear the human speak to him, and so asked aloud before he realized his folly, “Estel?’

The hands washing him stilled, their gentle massaging of his aching head and filthy hair stopped. _Estel is gone, he is left, and I will not see him again,_ the laegel reminded himself, his certainty that it was not Aragorn beside him confounding his confusion as to who bathed him. He wanted so desperately to see the Ranger, to believe that it was his lover kneeling in the water, that he kept himself from opening his eyes again so that he would not be disappointed to find the Adan absent.

The droll and unmistakable voice of his father asked, “Mistaking me for a human, my son? I do not know if I am more insulted by this, or that you thought me to be the foul Ranger.”

The Prince’s breath caught in his throat. _Ada?_

The King sighed, resuming his lathering of the young Elf's hair. “The healers have given us something to add to the soap oil, Legolas,” the King told him quietly. “It will ease your bruising and swelling.” Not believing his ears, the Prince finally reopened his eyes only to find himself staring up into his father’s face. The King was kneeling in the water, clad only in trousers, his hands working through Legolas’ matted and gnarled tresses. “Besides, I could not withstand the smell or sight of the blood in your hair,” the gruff King explained, but Thranduil’s apprehensive undertone belied this callous statement.

All the free standing candelabras from his bedroom, the library, and likely even the sitting room had been set about the bathing room – the artificial, orange light the many candles cast left no room for darkness in the part of the room that the reclining Legolas could see. It was early morning and the light would not be needed for much longer. It only made the laegel feel more exposed. He let his eyes drift shut again. The effort of keeping them open and remaining aware for such a brief period had already sapped his strength. The complete lack of control over his body, its shimmy as the persistent agony swept through him, frightened the Prince. He could not move away. He could not cover himself, or hide his pain or fear. Tears streamed from his eyes only to be lost in the water at the sides of his face, unnoticed by his father.

“Will you please bring some more warmed water, Kalin?” the King called softly.

_Kalin?_

Warm water poured over his head, and as if his son were a babe, the King held his hand upon the Prince’s brow, shielding Legolas’ eyes from the splashing liquid and soapy run off as he rinsed clean the Silvan’s hair. The gurgling sound of the drain being opened met his ears, before his father explained to Legolas without being asked, “The healers have told us not to let the Noldor’s stitches remain in the water, else you would have a bath proper, my son.”

He was not sure how long he had been asleep since the argument he had witnessed between his sentry and the healer – if the dreamless and deathlike rest in which he had been mired could be called sleep – but the Prince felt it washing away with the bathwater as it drained. With a splash, more water was poured into the nearly empty tub, slightly warmer than that which had drained from it. He was exposed. Every flaw on his body, his thinned and weakened muscles, the cuts and bruises from the last few days of torment at both his father and the merchant’s hands, and his much-abused thigh were all laid bare for the King to see. While normally the Elf was not shy about his body, that his father saw him now when he felt weak and helpless made the Prince wish once more for the numbness – or for death. Neither Thranduil nor Kalin seemed to sense this discomfort, however, and so the Wood-Elf tried to ignore it, as well. He was too tired to argue with them, too exhausted to try to bathe himself, and much too weary to contemplate the tiresome task of fighting his emotions.

The soft cloth skimmed across his face, dipped occasionally in the sweet water to gather more liquid, and then swept across the bruise under his eye, the long contusion across his cheek, and the fainter discolorations on his chin – all of these marks came from his father’s anger, and it was his father who now soothed them tenderly. The soapy water stung the sides of his mouth, which were split from Kane’s lustful abuse. He wanted to turn away, to flee this attention. He did not want his father to see how the merchant had hurt him or let Thranduil see him at his weakest.

The King chafed the cloth over the deep bruises on the laegel’s neck that had been made by the poker. Legolas drew away instinctually at having his swollen throat touched, the memory of his inability to breathe overriding his desire to shield his father from knowing how uncomfortable this experience was for him. If his father detected this reaction, he did not cease his ministrations, but moved the cloth across the Wood-Elf’s shoulders, down his arms, humming as if he often washed his broken, raped, and dying son.

_How many times will another wash me when I cannot?_

“When you have had your bath, Legolas, you must eat something. I have seen saplings as wide around as you,” the King reprimanded, encircling the Prince's forearm easily with his fingers to lift Legolas’ limb from the bathtub so that he could soap along the young Silvan’s sides. Sluicing water with his hands over the Elf’s stomach, the King washed the bruise he had made on Legolas’ ribs with his foot, and then the contusion over the Prince’s navel, which ran from hip to hip where Kane had bent him over the back of the chair as he used him.

_Will I always depend on another to absolve me of my guilt and shame?_

Thranduil turned the quiescent Prince on his side, settling the young Elf's limbs gently so that he would not roll over onto his stomach as the King washed his back. The cloth moved over the mar under his shoulder blades, formed also by the poker when his father had attacked him for embarrassing him in front of the Noldor. The cloth moved down, over the too apparent ribs and spine of his back where it cleaned the second mark made by the poker, the flesh rent in a shallow gouge where the pointed end had ripped through his skin. Settling the laegel on his back once more on the blanket and towel cushioned floor of the tub, the King took to cleaning the Prince's feet, moving up to his calves and then his unscarred thigh.

His father seemed to save for last the marred flesh on Legolas’ thigh. The many gouges had been sewn shut. The flesh still felt foreign to the Wood-Elf, but not in the sense that it had before – now it only ached relentlessly, more so than the rest of his body. All of his hatred and sorrow, his confusion and fear seemed at home there. Terror shivered across his skin until his quavering muscles followed his flesh’s trembling pursuit. He jerked his leg away when his father touched it, afraid to have his Ada handle the physical embodiment of the hatred Thranduil had felt for him.

“Peace, Legolas. I am almost finished. Do not move,” the King whispered, holding his son’s leg so that the Prince could not pull away again.

In gentle and slow motions, the King wiped clean the marred flesh. He tried not to breathe, not to budge, so that he would not incite his father’s anger by disobeying or giving the King evidence that he feared his touch. The scar and his father, it seemed, were communing, and the hatred both Thranduil and the scar held for Legolas dissipated from the Prince’s consciousness when his father’s touch caused no reaction in his marred thigh. The feeling of being forgiven and unsoiled returned to him, the sensation magnified now that he could feel not only the Ranger, twins, and sentries' love for him, but was also now assured of his father’s forgiveness and love.

He knew this would not last. He knew that his Ada would find fault in him again, that one day he would have to face his King’s assaults and pain, but he was bolstered by this as much as the temporary reprieve. If he were to survive, the will to do so would have to come from himself, not his father, Aragorn, the twins, or anyone else. Legolas reveled in the pain, buoyed by the realization that he wished to live, to heal. He would face these trials when they came. For now, he merely felt.

The King picked up his son, sliding his arms under Legolas’ legs and behind his back to lift him from the tub. Kalin waited by the side, a thick, soft blanket in hand. He laid it on the floor, helping the King to lay the Prince upon it, and then folded its edges over the laegel. After a moment, the King had hopped from the tub and gathered his son in his arms again, carrying him from the bathtub to Legolas’ bed, freshly remade with clean bedclothes at some point during his bath, where Thranduil laid down his son.

Before the King had even finished drying Legolas to dress him, the Prince was already asleep once more; though this time he did not struggle against his pain.


	54. Chapter 54

It was a beautiful thing, truly – made of black ash, the polished cane’s surface had been carved by an artisan into a tangle of leaves that overlapped each other in a pattern down the dark wood. Only as tall as the Wood-Elf’s waist, the top curved pleasantly from the vertical length into a flat, rounded handle that fit his hand perfectly, and was smooth so that the Prince using it would not hurt his palm as he leant upon it to walk.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Legolas griped to himself, shambling forward another step to where his sentry sat. _I do not need this cane._

“Just a few more steps, my Prince,” the fair-haired Kalin instructed, sliding forward to sit on the edge of his chair in worried anticipation.

“I may walk slowly,” the Prince chastised his sentry, “that does not mean that my mind moves slowly, Kalin. Your evil plan will not succeed.”

“Evil plan, Legolas? You mistake me for someone with wiles and time enough to plot against you.” The sentry only grinned, refusing to let his Prince’s scathing, oblique remark ruin his enjoyment of watching the laegel – immobile for the last week – now walking. “I am merely doing as you have instructed, sitting here waiting for you to saunter your haughty self to the veranda.”

“You are waiting for me to fall, to prove you right,” the Prince charged, more amused than angry with Kalin, though he was sure that Kalin realized this. His sentinel friend was as pleased as Legolas, or so it seemed to him, that the Prince was active and willing to endure the pain walking brought, and happy to defy the healers. But Legolas’ pride was irked at the sentry’s lightsomeness.

Kalin crossed his arms over his chest and grinned shamelessly at the Prince. “If you fall, Legolas, then I am right, and you should have stayed in bed. But if you make it without falling, then I will be no less pleased, my Prince.”

“If I fall, then I am lying on the floor and rolling to the veranda.” Taking another small step towards the bright sunshine spilling through the doors, Legolas shifted his weight onto his injured leg, which only caused him to wince at the agony of the pressure on his lacerated thigh muscles. “I cannot remain in bed without fresh air or the sight of the trees.”

A week ago had the Prince’s father bathed him; for the three days after that soothing bath, Legolas had fallen into a deep sleep, his tired body and weary soul finding respite against the pain to which he refused to succumb. For the last few days, the Elf had been lying in his bed, having his every need tended to by Kalin, Thranduil, or a healer, all of whom took turns caring for the Prince. Now, Legolas tried what the healers had informed him repeatedly that he should not do – he walked. At first, the sentry had pushed Legolas back into bed, uncharacteristically firm in his ordering the Prince to remain in bed as his healers had told him. However, Legolas would not be swayed. He needed the fresh air to clear his pain-muddled mind.

While walking on the veranda, Legolas, despite his effort not to depend upon the cane, found himself leaning his entire weight upon it when his thigh’s muscles began to seize. He stumbled the last step to his chair. Before he could fall into it, his sentry’s hands were upon him, guiding him into sitting more gently than he could have managed alone.

“Thank you, Kalin.” Legolas grabbed the very loose cloth of his leggings above his wounded leg, using it to pick his aching thigh up from the chair’s seat, to twist it back into a position of less agonizing normality. Upon seeing his Prince pestering his wounded leg, the sentry gave Legolas a concerned, inquisitive arch of one pale brow, to which the Wood-Elf replied, “It hurts.”

“According to the Noldor, it should hurt. It has to hurt,” Kalin told him, nodding sagely, eagerly in agreement with the twins’ medical advice.

Legolas did not bother to remind the sentry that he had told his Prince this again and again over the last week, nor did he bother to tell Kalin that he had heard Elrohir instructing Ninan of these things. _It would hurt either way. Even without grief exacerbating these wounds, the wounds themselves would cause enough grief._ Bruises, gouges, knots, and his internal injuries from Kane’s lust were healing. The scar itself, no longer merely one disfigurement but several deep lacerations dotted with shallower, less serious cuts, was also healing.

It had not spoken; the loathing emanating from it was absent, but the memory was there, and this in itself alarmed Legolas. It could return. The grief hovered under the surface of his mangled skin, waiting for an opportunity, an outlet.

Perceiving his Prince’s thoughts, which was in part his duty and one Kalin took seriously, the sentry implored, “You will need to tell your father of the scar. He asked me of how you had become injured thusly,” the sentry hedged, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he admitted with guilt, “and I told him I did not know.”

“You lied, you mean,” the Prince charged with an understanding smile, as he could imagine that Kalin would be feeling ashamed to have withheld information from his King when he could have supplied the information that Thranduil had asked of him.

Sighing, the sentinel agreed, “I lied. It is not my place to tell him of it, and so I lied.”

It was Legolas’ place to speak to his father of the scar, which the Prince planned to do, if he could persuade himself that the King would not believe his son to be crazy. _Whatever peace there is between us now would disappear should he know that my grief has driven me mad and that the scar’s current condition is my own doing._

“Where is my father?” the Prince asked.

“Merchants from Lake-town are here. It would seem that without Kane, the merchants do not wish to continue their dispute with us.”

The Prince stretched his legs out before him, arranging his wounded thigh carefully on the chair’s seat until the pain abated. “That is good news. Ada is pleased that the trade with Lake-town is not interrupted?”

“He did not seem to care. Lake-town has heard of Kane’s death, seen his body, and heard Thranduil’s promise to any who dares harm a Wood-Elf of Eryn Galen.” Kalin cleared his throat, leant back in his chair, and propped his own legs so that his feet rested on the carved stone banister. “Your father merely told them that merchants’ allegiance is easily bought, and if their allegiance was not to the economic good of Lake-town, or for trade in Eryn Galen, then he would find another human settlement with which to trade.”

It bothered the Prince to know that all of Lake-town, all of Mirkwood, all of Imladris, and likely many places and peoples whom he had never met, and would never meet, had heard the gossip of what the Prince of Eryn Galen had endured in the forest, and some even of what he had endured in his own home. This he pushed aside. He had enough to worry over without conceding his thoughts once more to the opinions of others. “He risked our relationship with Lake-town in doing so.”

“Yes, but greed prompted the merchants to join Kane’s cause, and greed keeps them from continuing it without him. Their emissaries draw new arrangements with the King even now, deciding how to supply the palace as Kane’s presence in the market is gone.”

His father was tending his own duties – for this, Legolas was glad. The King had spent the better part of every day and night with his son for the last week, and as he was unused to spending so much time with his father, the cloying company had rankled the Prince’s nerves. Legolas knew that during the times that Thranduil was not with his son the King did not refrain from his wine. His habits were borne of centuries of neglect and pain that Thranduil could not reverse in a mere week. Yet, each time his father visited, the King had been sober, carefully groomed, and washed so that he did not smell of the alcohol he had imbibed nor give any sign that he had been drinking.

_Ada is trying. I cannot fault him for his lapses._

Kalin appeared suddenly discomfited again, for he fidgeted with his belt, tapping his scabbard against the side of the chair in short raps of restless indecision. Suddenly, the sentry blurted, “I am sorry, Legolas. I was with Estel when he killed the merchant. I could have stopped him, and then King Thranduil would not have thrown him in the dungeons. He could be here with you now.”

“Estel would have found some way to kill Kane, whether it was that night or another, Kalin. It is just as well he did it then, for then Ada heard Kane’s admissions of what happened in Lake-town from Kane himself.”

“I could not have stopped the Ranger had I tried, not without him killing me for interfering,” Kalin told him, staring past Legolas in recollection. “I have never seen a human act so vengefully. But after what Kane told us… after what he said about you, Legolas…”

He did not care to know the details of what had occurred, of what Kane had told the commander, sentry, and Ranger that had so incited their wrath that neither Elf had stopped Aragorn from slaying the merchant. Shamefully curious to hear of the merchant’s death while hoping that Kane had suffered during it, the Wood-Elf interrupted, “How did Estel kill the merchant?”

The sentry rubbed his chin thoughtfully, returning his gaze to Legolas as he fought a satisfied smile when he told his Prince, “Estel relieved the human of his manhood, and Kane would have bled to death, but your father finished the disgusting man by breaking his head open upon the floor.”

 _Relieved him of his manhood?_ Legolas closed his eyes, the memory of the taste of the human’s foul manhood seemed to permeate his senses, and he could feel the merchant’s fist as it twisted in his hair. _He is not here. Kane is dead,_ he told himself in desultory reassurance, though he no longer tried to fight these memories, or to clash with the painful emotions – the terror and shame that accompanied his mind’s possession by sorrow. The Prince opened his eyes, though he could still see the merchant standing before him even as he stared out across the Mirkwood forest.

“Legolas?”

He assuaged his friend, “It is nothing, Kalin.”

The Prince was surprised to hear that his father had a part in Kane’s death. _Kane told Ada of Lake-town. He must have lost his temper._ Surprisingly, hearing that his father had been vindictive towards the merchant and not Legolas upon hearing of the incident in Lake-town relieved the Prince of the vile memories that held him spellbound, and the Elf shook his head to clear himself of their vestiges.

The sentry was leaning over the arm of his chair, peering at his Prince intently, worriedly. “Are you certain you are well, Legolas? Perhaps we should return to your room.”

“I miss Estel – that is all.” It was an understatement, of course. His grieving soul had not healed, but his longing to have the Ranger with him went deeper than the woe he felt from the merchants’ abuse.

“Of course you miss him.” Kalin sat back, satisfied that Legolas was not in undue physical pain, to tell the Prince, “I know you have promised your father not to see the Ranger again, Legolas, but the King is not made of stone. If you spoke to him, told him of the scar, and implored him to listen to his better judgment rather than his fears, then you could convince him.”

_Convince him of what? If I were to leave, to break my promise to him, I would abandon him, and Ada would never agree to this, nor allow it._

His mouth tasting bitter as he spoke in half-truths, Legolas grimaced as he remarked, “It is better for Estel that I keep my promise to my father. Estel is human. He will survive without me. He can heal from this. Mortal lives are short, and before his life is over, he will have many chances to find love again. I should not deny him this for the unlikely chance that Ada will change his mind.”

Kalin snorted softly in disbelief, his certitude that the Prince did not believe what he had spoken causing the sentry to allege audaciously, “Now _you_ lie, Legolas. It would break you to know that Estel had found another lover. He would survive without you, but you will not without him – not forever. Besides, I saw the murderous rage your Ranger unleashed upon Kane. I do not think he could have felt such need for revenge for any but his family or his bond mate.”

“I do not lie,” he argued, becoming angered that his sentry questioned this decision. “I want only Estel’s happiness.”

“The only way the Ranger will ever be happy is for you to be with him. You do not fool me, Legolas Thranduilion. You are just like your father, hiding from life so you will not be hurt.” Exasperated for some reason that Legolas could not understand, Kalin gestured out towards the sunlit forest and the Wood-Elves moving in the courtyard and beyond. “One must take chances, Legolas. Being unfeeling is not a sign of strength."

"These Elves,” the sentry said, his voice growing louder as his irritation grew, “do not hide themselves from heartache, but take it in stride in acceptance that with sorrow, Eru has granted us joy as well. There is no love without hate, no success without failure, and no courage without fear. Estel realized this, Legolas. He did not give up on you. Never have I known you to be a coward, my Prince. Do not be one now. Do not give up on him because you wish to avoid confrontation with your father.”

Several acerbic replies nearly leapt from the Elf’s mouth but he said nothing. He would have to face his father’s anger again. He would have to break his promise to Thranduil, to endanger the tentative peace between them, so that he could be with Estel. Legolas feared that his father’s latent hatred would rematerialize. The Prince did not know if his grieving faer could bear it – not after experiencing so briefly the return of his father’s love.

“You speak boldly, Kalin, but you speak truthfully,” he told his sentry, reaching out to clear the space between the two of them to lay his hand on Kalin’s forearm. “Would I be a coward if I waited until I can walk to my horse without this cane before leaving for Imladris?”

_And until I can stand so that I can stand up to my father?_

The sentry placed his hand on top of Legolas’, giving the younger Wood-Elf’s limb an encouraging squeeze and an equally heartening smile. “I am ready when you are, my Prince. My bags are packed.”

Legolas laughed at his sentry’s candidness while the sentry chuckled in return, happy to hear for the first time in many days his usually mirthful Prince’s cachinnations. It was not like Kalin to be so forthright, nor so demanding, but given what the sentry had seen and how he had helped the laegel thus far, the sentry had earned his place to counsel his Prince concerning such personal matters – at least in Legolas’ thinking. Kalin had always been Legolas’ friend, but now he showed this without qualm in giving the Prince some hard to accept but much needed advice.

 _Kalin is right,_ the laegel agreed, closed his eyes, and turned his face towards the sun to feel its warmth upon his skin. _I must take my chances._

All across the forest, the stark and bare limbs of winter were gone. The myriad trees were sprouting new growth, the buds of spring finally opened to expose the veiled beauty of their leaves. Without these emerald adornments, the trees would never survive, and instead of making the trees vulnerable by displaying that which is their most fragile, the trees were beautified by them.

The delicate, hidden emotions Legolas had locked within himself for so long were now exposed, but instead of making the Wood-Elf more vulnerable, they had made him stronger, more resilient. His own winter passed, his chance for growth at hand, the Prince reclined further into his chair as he watched his forest, his home. Like the trees, Legolas would have to bare himself to the volatile elements, though not to the finicky weather or disease that might assail the trees, but to his father’s hatred. He was not ready yet, but he would be, he had to be, and then he would see his Ranger again. 


	55. Chapter 55

Legolas leant obediently upon his cane with each step as his father walked behind him – he did not want to incite the King’s annoyance by walking without it. Despite his protests that he did not need the walking stick, Legolas’ leg pained him, and despite that for the last three hours he had been sitting in the council room with his father and his advisors, the inactivity had not ameliorated his pain. Therefore, it was not only for Thranduil’s sake that he used the cane, but also for his own, as much as he did not wish to admit it.

He had spent the entire day with his father, tending matters that concerned the realm while trying not to yawn from boredom. It was the first day he had spent in company other than his father or sentry, and all day he had felt like an oddity, a bizarre show for which the Silvan Elves had made time in their day to see. Even though most of his time had been spent at the meetings that his father usually attended daily, between each meeting, when the Prince had been spared moments of free time, Legolas was sure most Elves in the palace had approached him for well wishing. While eating his noon meal, when sitting by the fire with Ninan, and when walking to the sentries' quarters to check on Oiolaire, who was recovered fully and better off than Legolas, every Elf he had encountered had spoken with him.

They were all kind to him, regardless of their curiosity to see their Prince – an Elf who had survived what other Elves could not – and all had asked him how he felt, commended him on his efforts to walk, and consoled him tacitly by kind tones, hesitant touches, and gentle smiles. By now, all of his fellow Elves knew what had happened to him in Lake-town, in the Mirkwood forest with Aragorn, and in the guest room. Perhaps these Elves did not know the details of his suffering, but enough had been told by Kalin, Ninan, and the other sentries through a conscious effort to rectify the falsehoods of their Prince’s condition such that Mirkwood’s populace no longer shunned her Prince out of fear. Thranduil’s acceptance of Legolas had some part in this as well; the King’s hateful ire had dissolved into loving devotion. Perhaps the Wood-Elves did not know the details of why this change in Thranduil had occurred, but it was enough for them. If their King believed that Legolas was blameless, then they would follow suit in action and heart.

It might have upset the Prince to think of these things, to realize that most of his fellow Wood-Elves needed Thranduil’s example by which to pattern their own treatment of the Prince. It might also have upset Legolas to be the object of such pity and curiosity as that shown by those who had greeted him today. Instead, Legolas concentrated on walking. Without walking, he would not be in good physical shape to travel to Imladris, and this desire above all else compelled his every action and thought.

Thranduil stepped quickly ahead of Legolas, pushing open the door to the Prince’s bedroom. “Rest. I will see you in the morning,” the King told him quietly, allowing Legolas to walk past him and into the bedroom.

The Prince turned to tell his father goodnight but whirled into the King, who had followed him into the room. Legolas stumbled backwards away from his father out of instinct not to touch the King, to avoid the anger that might surface, but the Elf’s balance was thrown when his thigh twisted painfully. Legolas’ leg gave way though he tried to set the cane under him for support.

“Ada,” he began to apologize, reaching out for the door to right himself when he could not place the walking stick under him to situate his weight upon it.

Strong hands gripped his upper arms, holding him upright for the moment it took the Wood-Elf to gain his steady footing once more. “Be more careful, Legolas.” Relaxing his grip of the Silvan’s arms without releasing them altogether, the King’s sudden smile softened his reprimand, and he helped the Prince into sitting upon the nearby bed. “You should not move so quickly.”

He had all intentions of agreeing with his father, but the sight of the familiar scabbard on his bed caught his attention – someone had brought his long knife to his room. _I had thought it to be lost forever,_ the laegel mused, picking up the beautiful blade from where it lay on the spread. Sliding the burnished weapon from its sheath, the laegel admired the knife with unconcealed pleasure.

“It has been in my study since the patrol brought word of the attack upon you in the forest,” the King offered, moving to stand in front of Legolas to eye the Elven sword his son held. “I had nearly forgotten it was there.”

“Thank you for returning it, Ada,” he whispered, returning the weapon to its scabbard. Both knife and sheath were gifts from his mother, given to him ere he was old enough to use them.

Thranduil stared at the weapon even after Legolas had placed it back on the bedspread. “I will tell Kalin to bring dinner. He has been dawdling about the main hall, waiting for the council meeting to end so that he could see you.”

Legolas smiled at his sentry’s protectiveness but demurred, “Please tell Kalin I am free, should he wish to visit, but I do not hunger, Ada.”

“You will eat, Legolas, even if I have to feed you myself.” Thranduil’s fair brows lifted, knotted, and then smoothed in indecision before he placed his hands on Legolas’ shoulders, leaning forward as he said, “You are better, my son, and becoming more so every day.”

Then, Thranduil brushed his lips upon the Prince’s forehead before stepping quickly back as if confused by his own show of affection. Clearing his throat, the King added gruffly, “But you are not as well as you could be, not as you were before. Promise me you will eat something.”

He truly did not hunger, but promised, “I will eat, Ada.”

The King cleared his throat again, crossing his arms over his chest and appearing as if on the verge of a lecture; however, Thranduil only nodded, repeating from earlier, “Rest, Legolas. Good night.”

“Good night, Ada.”

Thranduil left the room, leaving the door open such that from where he sat at the end of the bed Legolas could see the King as he ambled down the hallway. Although the King had been amiable to him, as they days went by, Thranduil grew more distant from his son, the love and attention he had shown Legolas while the Prince was ill diminished to pleasantries and formality. Legolas was not surprised at this change. The King was no better at expressing his emotions than the Prince, and as Legolas’ health returned, Thranduil’s affection had declined.

Not thinking of these things, the Prince watched his father’s robes sweeping about his feet, certain that the King would be retiring to his study to drink himself witless for the night. This, too, Legolas did not ponder overly much, for Thranduil’s love of wine had never interfered with his duties as King, and as long as his sovereign’s drinking did not meddle with the King’s health or well-being, Legolas did not mind. He could not ask his father to change for him – not when he refused to change for his father.

When the King’s tall form was finally absent from the hallway, Legolas took his knife and cane in hand, stood from the bed, and hobbled to the armoire as steadily as he could manage, needing the cane more than he cared to consider. _Tomorrow I will walk without this stick,_ he promised, tossing said cane onto a nearby chair.

Legolas opened the cabinet’s door, the familiar creak of the old hinges lightening the fatigue the Elf felt from a day of wearying bureaucracy. Glancing into the mirror on the inside of the door, Legolas inspected his reflection. _Tomorrow I will walk farther than today._ His pale face was no longer bruised, his gaunt cheeks were fleshing out under his father and sentry’s diligence in ascertaining that Legolas ate, and the haunted barrenness the Prince had felt before was missing from his eyes. _Tomorrow I will try walking to the stables without the cane, and every day after until I am able._

Giving his reflection no further consideration, the Elf felt around the wooden foundation of the armoire, under the robes and tunics hanging on a rail, to find that which he sought. Pushed back against the closet’s rear wall were two bags, each filled with what he would need for his journey to Imladris and his bow and quiver. With these, he placed his knife, rearranging the clothing hanging over it to hide his provisions for his journey, for he wanted none to know until he had prepared _himself_ for departure.

This done, the Elf removed a sleeping shirt from the wardrobe and limped back to his bed. Legolas stood close to the bed in case he should lose his balance again, and then began removing his robes and leggings in careful, mechanical motions with a hand always ready to catch himself should he fall. He did not want to become injured further, as it would only prolong his wait before he could face his father, before he could leave for Imladris.

After the last of his clothing was removed, the Wood-Elf pulled on his sleeping shirt and sat on his bed. He lay back against the pillows, listening for Kalin’s footsteps and watching through the open door for his sentry when he brought the meal that Legolas would eat to please his father.

He would have to tell his father of the scar; he would have to chance Thranduil withdrawing the acceptance the King had granted of what Legolas had told his father about the merchants. The mere thought of confronting his father frightened the laegel more than facing Kane had frightened him, for at least in confronting his rapist he had known his King would be pleased with the action. But having no other choice if he wished to see his Ranger again, Legolas was reconciled to whatever outcome his argument would have.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He waved off the cloud of smoke drifting towards Elrohir, knowing that the sleeping younger twin would appreciate it, even if he weren’t alert enough to notice. _Another three days, probably less, and we will be in Imladris._ Aragorn drew heavily on his pipe, watching his twin brothers and the commander rest in their Elven reverie.

Thinking of Legolas, the Ranger considered seriously for the briefest of moments that he could be on his way back to Mirkwood without the Elves around him aware of his leaving. It would be impossible for him to enter Mirkwood’s inner boundaries, those surrounding the outermost circle of Woodland homes, without the border guard knowing his every movement. _Thranduil would be alerted immediately and he would not forgive my return._ The Ranger tapped his pipe lightly against the heel of his boot, letting the layer of ash on the embers fall to the rocky ground as he thought. _But I would know if Legolas was well, although I would know this from the dungeons, more than likely._ Regardless of the comfort of the image of being with his lover again, Aragorn would never leave his brothers and the commander when he had been given charge of their care as they rested; no, the Ranger only imagined.

He felt useless, rushed, and helpless. They had stayed in Mirkwood a total of only three days, if one counted the morning he had left as a day. Now, two weeks later – for they had taken their time in travel since the Ranger was not insentient as on their hurried way to the Greenwood but also not so healthy yet that they wished to push the human too hard while he was still recuperating – the foursome were close enough to Imladris and far enough from Mirkwood that the Ranger had given up all hope of return to the dark forest, to Legolas.

However, Aragorn looked forward to being home. His chest still ached from coughing, his body was still sore from sickness, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep in his own bed. Moreover, the sooner he was in Imladris, the better informed he would be about Legolas, for any word sent by the Prince or his sentry would likely be sent by Elven messenger. Aragorn would be waiting for the Wood-Elf when the messenger arrived in the courtyard with news of the Prince.

The sun rose before Aragorn realized he had not woken the commander for his watch. The Ranger stood, glancing at each of the exhausted Elves as they rested in reverie. Today would place another day between him and Legolas. Today was another day within Aragorn’s short life that he would be forced to live without his lover. Replacing his long dead pipe into its pocket in his coat, the Ranger rose unwillingly from the hard ground to wake his companions. 


	56. Chapter 56

As Estel had expected the night he had sat watching over his brothers and commander on the mountainside, it had taken them three days to finish their journey, for they had arrived on the third day’s night in Imladris. They entered the courtyard in a clatter of tired horse feet. Each weary traveler emitted small groans as he dismounted. _It is good to be home,_ the Ranger told himself, and though the sentiment was meant, it was overshadowed by the conditions upon which he, his twin brothers, and Glorfindel were returning to Imladris.

None spoke; all shared the same somber and regretful silence. They did not return with good news – or much news at all, for that matter, since they did not know how the Prince fared. Estel let one of the Elves from the stables lead his mare away, giving her a final, loving pat of thanks on her hindquarters, before he followed his brothers and Glorfindel up the stone steps and into the Last Homely House.

“Elrohir, Elladan!” came a call of surprise from a hallway stemming from the grand foyer. As the twins turned to the passageway’s entrance, the Elf who had called stepped into the anteroom, and upon seeing Glorfindel and Aragorn, both of whom were walking behind the twins, the Elven Lord of Imladris added, “Glorfindel, Estel.” His foster father was smiling in welcome; his arms were already open for the twins, who threw themselves at their father with abandon.

“My Lord Elrond,” the commander replied, his respectful salutation unnecessary between the two old friends, and therefore earned him no reply, as the Peredhel was also busy trying not to fall from the bombardment of his sons into his person.

When the twins had finally released their father, Elrond waited expectantly for Aragorn to follow suit in hugging his foster Ada. Noldorin Elves were not usually wont to display their emotions in public, but the Elven Lord had always encouraged his sons’ and daughter’s show of affection, for he himself had never bothered to hide his joy when greeting his family’s safe return. However, when Aragorn remained standing as he was, his eyes only for the polished marble floor under his feet, Lord Elrond suggested to them all gently, “This journey has been a trying one, I gather.” Glancing behind the weary travelers as if searching for something, or someone, the Noldorin leader asked, “Legolas is not with you?”

“No, Ada, he is in Mirkwood with his father,” the younger of the identical Elves divulged, and both twin brothers looked back to Estel, as if anticipating some reaction from him.

The Ranger said nothing; when it was clear no explanation would be forthcoming at the moment, their Ada told them all, “I was heading to my study. Let us all go, for I wish to hear of your time in Eryn Galen and of our Greenleaf’s health. Afterward I will leave you to refreshment and rest.”

The three Elves nodded to their Lord, while Aragorn only ambled unhurriedly behind them. _Ada will not forgive me for causing Legolas such grief,_ he worried, thinking of how he had left the laegel in the worst possible state in which an Elf can be. _I have forced upon the Prince something worse than that which the merchants forced upon him – worse if only because he trusted me not to treat him thusly._ Only his footsteps made any sound as they walked to Elrond’s study; each reverberated down the long hallway, sounding deafening to the Ranger amidst the unspoken reproach of the commander and twins. _Even if the twins claim to understand why I compelled Legolas into facing his grief, they will never forgive me, either._

They walked through the back entrance to Elrond’s study, and thus had to walk through the spacious room to the front where chairs enough for all of them were located. Their Ada’s study was as it always looked. Books were strewn on every surface, their placement deliberate but the reasoning behind their residency known only to the Peredhel. Candles and lamps sat in peculiar places, lighting old fossils, jars of indescribable liquids and herbs, and other oddities that the Elf Lord had collected over his many years. As all the curative herbs were located in the apothecary, as were all the other healing supplies, this anomalous assortment of items was, like the books, without reason to any but Elrond.

Past shelves and tables, desks and piles of scrolls did they march. _This will not go well,_ the Ranger portended as he quickly chose the chair farthest from his Ada’s desk and plopped gracelessly down into it.

Each was seated, the twins and commander in three chairs before Elrond’s desk while Aragorn sat off to the side. The Elves waited for Elrond’s prompt to begin their story, which the Elf Lord soon gave, saying, “Tell me, how fares our Greenleaf?”

As he sat slightly behind them, Aragorn could not see Elladan and Elrohir’s faces but noted the indecipherable glance they shared between themselves. The commander looked directly at the Peredhel but did not answer.

Their Ada sat tolerantly, quietly as he waited for what his three sons and commander would tell him. For the most part, the Ranger planned to leave the telling to his twin brothers. _By Ilúvatar, I will end up spitted over an Orc’s fire before I am the bearer of our sad tale._ By his own estimate, it should likely have been his duty to do the telling, but Aragorn did not feel up to it. _At least he is not angry, not yet,_ Estel thought of his adoptive father. _Although I am sure he will have his say._

He need not have worried, for Elladan replied eventually, “Legolas is unwell, Ada. He still fights his grief, and…”

The Noldo trailed off in his explanation, but Elrohir took up the thread of his twin’s account. “And we do not know if he battles his grief still or if his grieving soul has been welcomed by Mandos.”

Folding his hands in his lap, the commander told the Elf healer, “It is a long story, Elrond. Much has happened in the short time we were in Thranduil’s halls.”

The Peredhel nodded, his face carefully free from expression. “Then start from the beginning. You arrived in Mirkwood safely?”

Too tired to pay attention to what was being said, Aragorn watched the play of shadows on his father’s features. A lone lamp cast its glow on his foster father’s desk, the golden light barely illuminating the books on which it sat, much less the four Elves and Ranger sitting around it. The Elf Lord’s calmness in his questioning evinced to the Ranger that his foster father had expected the tale his sons were to tell him, but it could also mean that their Ada was angry, though what would truly anger the Elven Lord had yet to be intimated.

“On our way to Mirkwood, before we had even crossed the mountains, we encountered a band of Orcs. One of Legolas’ sentries was injured, though not badly,” the younger twin began, “and we traveled on, killing the Orcs as we made our way up the mountains.”

“As the messenger I sent from the hunting party should have told you, Elrond, the arrow and Orc bodies we found on the mountainside were indeed from your sons and the Prince’s party. I followed them to ascertain their safety.” Glorfindel interjected this comment before silencing; the indomitable commander lowered his head after speaking, his guilt in the matters that had occurred, those events for which he blamed himself for allowing to occur and those that the elder had not made to occur to protect his charges, was weighing down the otherwise outspoken Glorfindel, causing him to be reticent in his Lord’s presence.

“The messenger told me this, my friend,” the Peredhel stated, reaching out to adjust some disheveled papers on his desk. “So you caught up with them?”

After a moment had passed without any answer, Elladan shifted in his chair uncomfortably, glanced in Aragorn’s direction, and replied, “No, Ada, Glorfindel did not catch up to us. We were forced to make haste to Mirkwood. Estel became sick with a cough and fever. Legolas agreed to travel onwards through the day and night so that Estel would not become more ill from the elements.”

Smiling stiffly, Elrond rapped his fingers on his desk, which was the only sign of his growing irritation, before he asked the human, “Estel. The coughing has subsided and your fever gone?”

The twins had not purveyed the information of how sick the Ranger had truly been; Elladan and Elrohir still did not know that Aragorn had hidden his sickness from them on the day before the night he had fallen into his feverish sleep on the mountainside, and so could only tell their Ada how the human had fallen ill unexpectedly. _He will become irate over this,_ the Ranger worried, but then thought wryly, _though this is the least upsetting part of the story, so I do not think I will mention it._

Aloud, however, Estel said in demurral, “The coughing has subsided yes, Ada. I am well again.”

Pursing his lips in a faint show of disbelief, the disheveled Elf Lord crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his chair. “I know why you did not return to Imladris, Estel,” his Ada provided, shaking his head though he appended, “and I do not blame you for wanting to continue to the Greenwood with Legolas. But you will be more careful in the future? Mortal bodies should not be pushed beyond their limits.”

He knew this, obviously, but agreed readily to appease the Elf Lord, “Of course.”

Eager to refocus their father’s attention away from the Ranger, Elrohir told his Ada, “When we arrived at Thranduil’s halls, Elladan and I took Estel to the healers, while Legolas went to meet his father. It was not until the next morning that we saw Legolas again. We found him sleeping on the hearth, his clothes drenched in wine.”

“Thranduil had broken a wine bottle over Legolas’ head when he admitted to loving Estel, telling our Greenleaf that he should have died, and that his living was an embarrassment to Mirkwood.” Swallowing thickly, the elder twin added, “Thranduil was convinced that Legolas would have died should he have been attacked, and so believed Greenleaf to have desired what the merchants did to him.”

“But still Legolas did not tell him of the first time in Lake-town.” Eyeing his older brother for the imminent tears that were destined to fall – given Elladan’s broken tone – Elrohir scooted his chair closer to his twin. “And Legolas seemed to accept his father’s censure, believing that he should have died, and that because he didn’t, he deserved being attacked. Legolas agreed to make restitution to Kane.”

The Peredhel sighed and then muttered, “I had no idea that Thranduil would act so cruelly towards Greenleaf. I would not have anticipated the Woodland King’s anger, but expected his joy to see that the Prince still lived.”

Trading with Glorfindel a knowing glance over Elladan’s bowed head, Elrohir continued without addressing his father’s statement, “Later that evening, Glorfindel arrived. When we met him in the hall of fire, Thranduil came to us, inviting us to dine with him.”

“Which we did,” Elladan answered, his voice slightly muffled through the curtain of hair that hung over his down turned face, “but it did not go well. Thranduil does not approve of Estel, not even as Legolas’ friend, this you know, Ada; however, that night, Thranduil could not seem to keep his drunken thoughts to himself, and insulted Estel and then Legolas, which only angered Estel.”

When Elrond looked to him, the Ranger felt compelled to respond, saying, “I could withstand the King insulting me, but I would not sit by and listen to him call Legolas a whore.”

“A whore?” The esteemed Noldorin Lord shook his head, fiddling with the blotter on his desk as he did so. Fidgeting was not at all common to the Peredhel. To see him do it showed those around him how agitated he truly was. “What has possessed Thranduil to treat his son in such a manner?”

All four travelers sighed, each exhale coming in a cacophonous and mistimed expression of their shared vexation. “Wine, Elrond, and the loss of his Queen has clouded Thranduil’s mind.”

Elrond shook his head again, Glorfindel’s answer not a good reason to him for Thranduil’s behavior, but as the answer would be given only through the telling of events, Elladan spoke up, “Thranduil tried to hit Estel.”

As Aragorn expected, his Ada became immediately irate at the King of Mirkwood daring to harm one of his sons – the half-Elf’s eyes narrowed and the calm demeanor the Peredhel usually displayed slipped from the Noldo’s face to show his indignant rage. “Thranduil tried to strike Estel?”

“He did not succeed because Legolas grabbed his father’s arm, throwing the King to the floor in protection of Estel, which only inflamed Thranduil more. He ordered Legolas to his chambers and allowed him no visitors, save for the King himself.” Elrohir reached out, laying his hand on his elder brother’s hand where it was fisted in Elladan’s tunic. “We went to find Kalin, hoping that he could speak with Thranduil, but could not locate him. On our way to Legolas’ quarters, we passed the King, who had been crying. It was not until later that we found out Thranduil had visited Legolas after sending him to his chambers.”

“He beat him, Ada,” the elder twin whispered, their dismay at leaving Legolas alone with the very Elf of whom they spoke evident in the horror with which Elladan spoke. As insouciant and accepting as they had been of the matter when speaking to Estel the night it had happened, to their father now the twins were more emotional. The Noldo’s dark hair shimmered in the faint light as he lifted his head to tell his father, “Thranduil beat Legolas with a fire poker. He nearly killed him, choking our Greenleaf with it.”

His own shame in leaving Legolas alone with his father burned the Ranger’s sensibilities; only by gripping the arms of the chair in which he sat did he stave off the urge to flee the room and back to his tired horse.

“Kalin stood guard against our entering Legolas’ rooms, though the Prince would not have us enter regardless out of shame for his father’s actions,” the commander explained. The night was growing later and all of them were exhausted. None, however, made any pleas to leave off this elucidation until tomorrow.

“But we waited outside Legolas’ door, thinking Thranduil might lift his ban of visitors, and if nothing else, to let the Prince know we were with him,” Elrohir said quietly, rubbing his twin’s back in comfort. “It was not until the next night, when the merchant Kane arrived for his recompense, that we saw Greenleaf again. We walked with him to his father’s study but were not allowed entrance.”

“What restitution did the merchant seek from Greenleaf?” the Imladrian Lord asked, his arms once more crossed over his chest.

He did not wish to revisit their horrifying stay in Mirkwood any longer, and since the twins knew as much if not more than he about the hows and whys of what had happened, he thought uncharitably, _Let them answer Ada’s questions._ Despite telling his father that he was well, Aragorn did not feel well; this had little to do with his waning sickness, however, and all to do with his last sight of his lover, dying of a grief that while not caused by Estel had been facilitated by him.

“Legolas later told us that the merchant wished for gold coin and an apology.” Elladan had begun to weep outright as he spoke, his eyes cast to the carpeted floor and his broad, strong shoulders appearing narrow and frail as they shook with sorrow over the wounds perpetrated against the Prince. Not much could bring the elder of Elrond's twin sons to tears, but the remembrance of the suffering of the Wood-Elf, ever considered their own flesh and blood by the reckoning of Elrond's family, struck him as deeply as if it had occurred to his twin. “But the human took more from Legolas than this. He abused Greenleaf again.”

Throughout this explanation, the Elven Lord’s face had grown gloomy, and by how he watched his sons as they spoke, the Lord's verdigris green eyes showed that the Noldo was listening to what his sons were telling him, but their acidic depths also evinced that Elrond’s thoughts were dark and consuming. It did not help for him to see his normally strong sons so sorrowed. “Greenleaf was raped again? In his father’s own halls?”

“It was the scar, Ada,” Elrohir was quick to supply. “Legolas told us that he took the human to his guest room, using the hidden tunnels through the palace to arrive there. The merchant tried to touch him. When Legolas refused Kane’s sickening advances, pushing the merchant to the floor, Kane threatened to tell Thranduil.”

“He could not make his father angrier, Ada. Legolas broke. He was not raped. He let the man use him to pacify his King, to keep the wine trade intact, and to quiet the scar.” His anguish over the laegel’s torment intensified, causing Elladan to lament a brief and plaintive, sighing breath that bordered on a sob. “But the scar would not quiet,” the elder twin said between gasps of air as he tried to quiet his tears, “and Legolas tried to gouge away the demeaning flesh with a dagger.”

“Estel found him in his bathtub. Legolas would have bled to death if Estel had not found Greenleaf when he did.” Moving even closer to his twin while trying to maintain his own composure, Elrohir wiped at his tear-streaked face and said, “He could undergo no more, Ada. With Thranduil’s hatred, his submitting to Kane, and the scar’s awful reprimand, Legolas just wanted it to end.”

That Legolas’ torment had affected the twins was not something of which Aragorn was unaware, but seeing his two brothers' lamentations, instead of the ire they had displayed in the forest when confronting him several days earlier, only brought the Ranger more guilt. How long he sat there, his stomach clenching and unclenching as he chastised himself for leaving Legolas and then consoling himself that there had been no other way, the Ranger did not know.

“Estel?”

The human’s head shot up to feign to his foster father that he had been listening to the conversation around him. His Ada was watching him, waiting for a response, and the Ranger was aggravated to realize that he had none to give, as he did not know the question. Sighing, the human asked, “Yes?”

With both twins in tears over their Wood-Elf brethren and Glorfindel strangely quiet, it seemed it was Estel’s turn to continue. Elrond prompted, “What happened?”

“I tried to help him but Legolas did not want me near. He did not want to feel the grief,” he started, but then realized he had no hope of explicating the meaning behind Legolas’ actions or the desperation the Elf had displayed. _There is nothing any of us can say that could capture the true desolation Greenleaf endured._ He would try, however. “The scar…” Aragorn stopped. It was odd to speak of the scar as if it were a person itself, an entity outside of Legolas.

Glorfindel, seeing the Ranger flounder, inserted his own summation, telling his Lord, “Legolas had retreated from his grief; the scar was his faer’s attempt to face this grief.” The Peredhel agreed with a nod, for this was something that the Elf Lord had told Legolas when last he spoke with him, and so the commander continued, “But after Legolas’ continued debasement by his father and this new misery at Kane’s presence and demands upon him, the scar would not relent, Elrond. The despair became too much for the Prince, so Legolas tried to destroy it.”

“But Estel would extract Legolas from the numbness he desired, that which he used to survive, and so he did not wish for Estel to be near.” Laying his head on Elladan’s shaking shoulder, the younger twin hugged his elder brother to him. “And so Estel went to kill the merchant for harming Legolas, while Elladan and I tried to sew the gashes Legolas had made and see to it that Greenleaf did not fade.”

“Estel?”

Again, the Ranger was surprised to find himself the center of attention, for he had been trying his best not to listen to the retelling of Legolas’ agony, as he did not want to remember the pained, frightened face of the laegel. He did not wish to recall the blood drenched Wood-Elf lying in the tub, who had scrambled away from the Ranger and swung a knife at the human out of fear. “Yes, Ada?”

Unlike his terse irritation of before, the Elven leader did not rebuke the Ranger for his inattention. Instead, the Peredhel smiled at the human. “And did you kill the foul merchant?”

“He died in the end, yes, though I only relieved him of his manhood,” Aragorn replied, not at all ashamed that he had tormented Legolas’ attacker in this way, though he was certain his father would not be pleased. The twins had already wrought most of the sordid tale – there was just the matter of the scar and the final events of their time in Mirkwood to tell.

“A just punishment, I am sure,” the Elven Lord replied, snorting softly.

“I should never have let him.” Glorfindel stood from where he sat, only to bow low to the Elven leader. “I had followed Estel, halting him from killing Kane until my desire to see the merchant pay for what he had done to the Prince overcame my better sense. I am sorry, my Lord Elrond.”

Whatever foul mood had descended over the Imladrian Lord’s features earlier was clearly vanished now. The Peredhel laughed with pleasure, saying, “Your guilt makes you a better Elf than I, Glorfindel, for I believe I would have helped Estel in his endeavor.”

“But Ada,” the younger twin disagreed, standing as well, and thus releasing his sobbing twin to argue, “while the merchant deserved his fate, it has only caused more grief for Greenleaf.”

“Thranduil had Estel placed in the dungeons; had not Legolas agreed to remain in Mirkwood, to cease his relationship with Estel and never see him again, in the dungeons Estel would have remained,” Elladan cried out. “We should have done more for him. We should not have left,” the elder twin told his father before burying his face in his hands. Immediately, Elrohir scrambled back to his twin, wrapping his arms around his distraught brother.

Tilting his dark head in thought, the sage Lord Elrond told Estel pointedly, “It would seem that again Legolas has sacrificed himself for you, Estel. His survival is once more in doubt because he saw fit to put your life above his own. Surely he will not be able to live without you, Estel.”

If his father was seeking to comfort the harried human, he was failing pitifully. “I know this,” the Ranger responded softly, as he could think of nothing else to say.

“But this was Legolas’ decision,” the Elven Lord told his twin sons. “Greenleaf traded Estel’s life for his once more and I doubt anything you might have done would have stopped him.”

“He will not survive,” the younger twin sobbed into his distressed elder twin’s shoulder. “We had to leave Legolas with his hateful father when he needed us most, especially after what Estel has done – Estel has acted foolishly, Ada.”

 _Thank you, brothers,_ the Ranger complained silently. He chafed his hands together, the calluses making a sound similar to the rub of dried leaves, and waited for their father’s query as to what Elrohir meant.

The Elf Lord did not disappoint, saying, “Tell me, what is it that has your brothers in such a state? What have you done?”

“I could not leave him as he was, Ada,” the Ranger pled with his father to understand. He suddenly wished he were closer to the Elf Lord and scooted forward in his chair to lean his elbows on his knees, to do whatever it took to make clear his intentions were good. He needed his father’s support as much as the Wood-Elf needed Thranduil’s approval. “The numbness in which Legolas stayed would have killed him eventually. At least he had a chance in fighting the grief.” Clearly, his father did not comprehend how the Ranger had brought this about, for he watched Aragorn, waiting for the remainder of the story. “I just held him, Ada, to bring him from the stupor in which he tried to remain. It was all that I could think to do for him.”

The commander found his voice again and told Elrond, “We left the same morning and know nothing of how the Prince fares now.”

With the story told – or at least the bare minimum that would pacify Elrond’s curiosity tonight – the three Elves and shamed human sat in silence, awaiting Elrond’s words, his judgment, his comfort, or whatever their leader and father offered them. His fingertips tracing the worried lines in his brow, as if pushing them askance with physical force would work since the resolution of his worry was out of his reach, the Peredhel told them, “I would that Legolas had not been left to suffer with his father, but Estel has helped the Prince, my sons.”

“Before the merchant died, he confessed to his part in Legolas’ torment in Lake-town, taunting Thranduil with this knowledge. Indeed, it was Thranduil himself who broke open Kane’s head upon hearing the man’s confession. Moreover, after meeting with Legolas, Thranduil claimed to love his son, my Lord. Although I hesitate to say the Prince is in good hands in Mirkwood, I do believe that because we have left, Legolas will no longer suffer his King’s anger,” Glorfindel assured.

The commander truly seemed to trust what he told Elrond, but Aragorn doubted, thinking, _Legolas will be safe in Mirkwood until next he tries Thranduil’s patience. And because it takes little to rouse the King’s anger, Greenleaf will not be safe for long._

“That is welcomed news,” the Noldorin ruler stated before echoing Aragorn’s thoughts unwittingly in saying, “But I doubt such peace will last. And yet, it does not matter.” Turning to his weeping twin sons, their father told them, “You have done what you could for Legolas, and through this you have aided him, even should you be unable to be with him now.” To the commander the leader reiterated, “And the merchant’s death was not unwarranted, even if perhaps it could have been accomplished in a way that would not have given Thranduil the leverage to use against Legolas.” Finally, the Elven Lord faced Estel. “But our Greenleaf’s healing is of his own making, not of our choice or deeds. I have already told Legolas but I tell you now: the Prince has a fate greater than death from despair. I am certain he will live to see it accomplished.”

At the ineluctable erudition of their Ada’s vow, the mourning twins ceased their crying for Legolas, their weeping fading into sniffles, while Glorfindel merely nodded, no longer avoiding the Noldorin Lord’s gaze but returning it as his own burden of blame was lightened and his hope for the Prince rekindled. Speaking in a voice that soothed their heavy hearts as much as his words did, the elder Elf told them, “Find rest, my sons, my friend. Tomorrow we may speak more of this, if you wish, but tonight, sleep well knowing that our Greenleaf will not wither and die during this harsh winter of his life. His spring has arrived; he will flourish again.”

The twins and commander stood, the former hugging their father tightly to them before leaving, though the later only bowed once more to the Peredhel before following the Noldorin brothers from Elrond’s study. Aragorn made to leave, as well, but could not find solace in his father’s declaration that Legolas would be well, nor did he seek respite in his adopted Ada’s arms. Instead, he trailed the others to the door until his foster father called to him, “Estel.”

Obediently, the Ranger stopped. Their moods lightened even if their worries were not vanquished, the twins and commander continued out of the study, leaving their cares with Elrond for the night.

“Wait a moment. I wish to talk to you, my son,” the Noldo told the human. But the Peredhel did not speak – holding his arms out for the Ranger in open invitation, his Ada merely smiled.

Estel stepped forward and into the Elf Lord’s arms, his resolve breaking, and the desire for solace from the only father he had ever known was great. He felt as a small child, held by his Ada. “I want to be with him. It is too soon,” he murmured into the cloth on his foster father’s shoulder. “I have only just earned his love and now he is gone.”

“Trust me, Estel. Legolas will be well, I promise you.” This may be true. The Elf might be well, but the Peredhel said nothing of Aragorn ever seeing the Silvan again.

The half-Elf embraced the Ranger, rocking on his heels slightly, as if rocking a babe in his arms. Thinking of this, the human only wished he were truly a child, for at least then none of this would have happened and he could have another chance with the Wood-Elf. When Aragorn had calmed, his sorrow given outlet though not spent, the Ranger stood back and dried his face on the sleeves of his tunic. He was not surprised to find his Ada still smiling at him kindly.

“Go, Estel. Rest.”

The Ranger only stared at the elder Elf for a moment. There was much he wished to ask about Elrond’s certainty that Legolas would be well. _Ada could convince Thranduil to break his silly oath with Legolas,_ the man wondered but did not say. He feared that the Peredhel could do nothing or would not interfere with the sovereign of another realm, and Aragorn could not withstand any more disappointment this night.

“Good night, Ada,” he told the Noldo. He walked quickly from the room before he lost his precarious poise once more.

Upon exiting his father’s study, the Ranger found his twin brothers outside the door, sitting on one of the benches lining the long hallway. They rose together, one on Estel’s left and the other on his right, and looped their arms through the Ranger’s arms.

“We are sorry, Estel,” Elrohir began, pulling the human with them as they walked to their quarters.

Elladan held tighter to Aragorn’s arm, pressing his side into the Ranger’s as he told the human, “Ada is right. You have only loved Legolas. We were wrong to blame you for his sorrow.”

“And Ada is also right that Legolas will survive. We should not doubt this,” the younger twin added, pulling the Ranger away from Elladan in drawing Estel closer to him, instead.

They walked arm in arm to the family hall. Aragorn could not agree with the twins, for they were not entirely wrong in their censure. The Ranger had left the Wood-Elf in dire condition, but there was nothing they could do for him now, except wait for word from the Prince…and to hope.

They stopped in front of Aragorn’s rooms; Elladan opened the door while Elrohir pushed the Ranger gently inside. In tandem, the twins intonated, “Goodnight, Estel.”

He turned to them just inside his room, intending to tell them the same, but his Elven brothers were already walking away, heading down the hall the short distance to where their rooms lay side by side. _Goodnight, brothers._

Removing his daggers to lay them on the chest of drawers, where in the chair beside sat his sword, satchels, and other supplies that the Elves from the horse barn had placed there after stabling his mare, the Ranger began removing his clothes, stripping himself of his garments, dirty from their hard weeks of travel. He stretched himself out on the bed, thinking and longing for the Prince to be beside him.

Above all else, the human wanted the Wood-Elf to be well. He wanted his lover’s life to be long, untroubled, and for Legolas never to suffer. Yet, the Ranger missed the laegel already. He had known the Prince for most of his life and spending the remainder of his life without Legolas made the human doubt whether trying to do so would be worth the effort. Tossing on the mattress until he could endure his discomfiting thoughts no longer, Aragorn rolled off the bed, landing on his feet and striding to the door.

He checked down the hallway and then up it, seeking some sign that the twins or his father, or any Elf, for that matter, would catch him. Seeing no one, Aragorn pushed his door open slowly and slid out of it to pad across the hallway in his bare feet. The door to the Prince’s room – the room where Legolas had stayed since first he and his mother had visited Imladris many years ago – was slightly ajar. The Ranger stood before it. There would be no Legolas asleep in the bed within, no soft singing as the Prince bathed in the connecting bath chambers, and no Wood-Elf sitting on the chaise, reading a book by the firelight.

With his hand on the doorknob, Estel thought of how Legolas had moved to his Naneth’s chambers after her death. The Prince had wanted to be closer to memories of his mother and nearer to his Naneth’s very belongings as if they brought him comfort, as well. Aragorn could do the same, but thinking of Legolas and his grief over his mother, the Ranger drew a disparity between the similar circumstances, saying as he pushed open the door, _Legolas’ Naneth died. The Prince will not undergo the same fate. I go here not to console myself with his demise, but only to bide my time until I see Legolas again._

The balcony’s drapes were open. Outside was the vast rocky face of the valley, covered in the imbricate foliage of trees, shrubbery, and the grasses and gardens of flowers. The growing season was truly upon them – according to the Peredhel, Legolas was to experience the springtide of rebirth and restoration that was currently renewing Middle Earth. _I hope Greenleaf can see the trees and new spring’s growth,_ he thought.

Tired and wanting to escape his fretting for a while, Estel laid himself down on the Elf’s bed, his head on the pillow where Legolas had laid his own golden head only weeks ago. Breathing in deeply, the Ranger imagined he could still smell the soft fragrance of sweet oranges and pines.


	57. Chapter 57

Parchment lay before him on the desk. He had quills aplenty. The ink jar was full of indigo fluid and the light of the oil lamp was enough by which Legolas could see clearly. But he sat without writing, his quill gripped firmly in his motionless hand as he thought of what he could possibly say to the twins whom he thought of as brothers, the Elf Lord he looked to as a father, and the Ranger who he loved more than the stars in the sky above him.

 _This is ridiculous,_ the Elf scolded himself, rubbing his head with his free hand. Cool air brushed through his hair, carrying with it the fragrance of the fires lit somewhere nearby. Legolas sat on the balcony, having scooted the small writing table and chair outside so that he could enjoy the late evening under Ithil’s pale endowment to the quiet forest below. _I can think of nothing to say._

He had promised the twins that he would send word the moment he was able; however, once faced with the blank sheet of parchment, Legolas found that he did not wish to write the twins a letter. _They will worry if I do not send them a missive. I cannot let them fret over me any longer._ Sighing, the Prince sat the unused quill down on the blotter before crossing his arms upon the table and then laying his head on his arms. _I am certain that Elladan, Elrohir, Lord Glorfindel, and Aragorn have arrived in Imladris. I hope they encountered no trouble along the way._

Legolas was tired. He kept his head upon his arms, closing his eyes and letting the weariness of the day's toils slide from him with the moment of peace. Today the laegel had spent with his father, as was their new habit. Thranduil would make his way to the Prince’s rooms each morning, where the laegel would be dressed and ready to attend the meetings and councils that the King held each day to address matters concerning the kingdom. Most of these congresses were less formal meetings than brief interludes used to hone the concerted endeavors of the Woodland warriors against the ebullition of dark forces in the forest. They were wearying nonetheless, and the gawking and well wishing from his fellow Wood-Elves continued.

After the evening meal, Thranduil would go to his study, to his wine. After his father would leave him in his room, Legolas would make his way to the stables, however, while leaning heavily upon his cane. The Wood-Elf had told Kalin that once he could walk to his horse without any problem he would be ready to confront his father. Therefore, Legolas walked to the stables as often as possible, the act not just to pacify his promise to Kalin but also to strengthen the aching muscles of his leg. Traveling while injured was never practical or wise, and if Legolas wished to travel soon, he would need to be able to move without constant aid from another.

 _Now that I can walk to the stables without the cane,_ the Elf told himself, _I suppose it is time to go._

Before meeting the Ranger, the Prince had hardly felt the passage of time, for to the Elves, days only grew long when one's days on Middle Earth were many. After he had first met the precocious child in Imladris, Legolas had ever felt each day as if he were mortal, for his sense of time had changed as he had spent days with the Adan, learning of how each morning the young child would waken as if the new day were a blessing, and how Estel would treasure the end of each day in a way that only those who expect their days to end might cherish them.

Even now, without the Ranger with him, the Prince had felt each day, though it was for a much different reason than Aragorn’s influence on his notion of time. Although the Elf had grown strong, his body healing and the bruises faded, and even his lean body regaining some of its former weight under his father’s observant demands that Legolas eat and eat well, his body’s increasing strength belied his soul’s decline.

What he had thought difficult was in truth the easiest thing. Though he had languished in his sorrow since first he was attacked by the merchant, he had since cast off these emotions. His father’s recent show of love and attention, muted as it was, had aided the laegel in healing from the merchants’ abuses, but more so than this was the simple decision that Legolas had made. He wanted to live. However, the continuing absence of the Ranger made the Prince feel each day as if it were his last. He knew if he spent much more time away from the Ranger, especially now when his faer was already hindered with the slow recovery from Kane’s recent, hateful lust and the other merchants’ abuse earlier, Legolas’ faer would not be able to withstand the added burden. He was not bound to the human as the Elves bound their faer together, nor was the need physical – Legolas did not need the Ranger in his bed but only to have the Ranger near.

 _It is truly an easy thing,_ he thought, lifting his head from his forearms to gaze out across the nighttime sky. _It is an easy thing to choose to live. It is the living that is the hard part,_ he teased himself, a lopsided grin stretching out across his face.

In the distance, the long range of the mountains barring easy passage from the east to the west was shrouded in fog; the mountains were not the only barrier between him and his lover. Legolas had spent much of the last weeks thinking of his father and how best to tell the King that he would be leaving, that he didn’t intend to return to Eryn Galen before next spring, if not later.

Legolas was unsure how the King would take this news. He was certain that Thranduil would react with vehement denial of the Prince’s desire to leave, while reminding the laegel of his promise to avoid all contact with the Ranger. Moreover, Legolas feared what levy his defiance would exact from him. He did not know if he could endure violence from his father, not since Thranduil had been so kind from the time when the Noldor and Ranger had left.

 _Such kindness would never last, anyway,_ Legolas told himself, laying his head back down on his arms.

His leg throbbed. It was a steady and welcomed sensation, for the pain was normal, the muscles protesting his having walked too much that day without his cane. The single scar that had marred his thigh was no longer – hewn into several new, pink-edged and inflamed wounds, the scar was now lost among the many new mars over his leg, the single voice gone, though it was now replaced by the many voices of confusion and fear, his own internal dialogue, that pondered on his future, and how foreshortened it would be without the Ranger. The interregnum between the scar’s odious counsel and the return of his own volition had been anarchical; though fortunate for the Prince, he could remember little save his odd wanderings in his dreams. Having lived without the scar’s voice for well over a fortnight, the Prince could hardly remember what had caused his capitulation to the maddening voice’s will.

He could hardly remember, but he didremember. The emotions had been controlling him. He could certainly not control his emotions, and nor did he bother to try any longer, but they did not rule his thinking as they had before with their enormity, their importance in swaying Legolas’ decisions having grown disproportionately as for so long he had quelled his emotions into silence. The scar had been borne from this sort of misunderstanding of himself, for the more he had tried not to feel, the more he had felt, both in the intense and life-threatening despair of his lost innocence and father’s hatred, and from the love of the Ranger and the twins’ touch and devoted care-taking. The brief respite of numbness through which he had been surviving had only amplified his emotions when he felt them, such as the ardent memory of the first night he and Aragorn had shared the other’s body, or the potent, dire recollection of Kane’s words and actions.

No, the Elf did not cast aside the sorrow or the love, but welcomed it. Instead of domineering his will through its superficial intensity, the rampant emotions he had long suppressed guided his actions, as did his logic and sense of morality. The Prince’s disparate faer was balanced, though it was ill with longing for Estel.

He could write this down. He could tell the twins and Ranger these things; however, Legolas knew he would only cause them to worry.

 _I will need to speak with Ada soon._ The velleity of staying in Eryn Galen, of avoiding a confrontation with his father, briefly crossed the Prince’s mind. He could let Thranduil’s verdict stand and he could decay in Mirkwood – not from the despair of the abuse he had suffered, but from the absence of his lover. Legolas sat back in his chair and stared down at the parchment and quill. _No point in writing this down. I will merely travel to Imladris to tell them._

He picked up his cane from the balcony’s tiled floor and propped himself upon it, his overused and aching thigh too weak for him to trust himself walking without it. As he made his way slowly back into the library, the chair dragging behind him and intending to return in a moment for the desk on which lay his unused parchment and quill, Legolas said aloud, “Tomorrow I will speak to Ada. And the day after, I will leave for Imladris.”

Another decision made, the Prince went about his task of righting his mother’s library. The fear no longer ruled him. Legolas felt the terror, as he felt the tinge of sorrow that colored his every thought, but neither his apprehension to speak to his King or his mourning would stay his course from seeing his Ranger.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He sat by himself. The hard, stone bench on which he took his repose was not made for lying down, but the Ranger was accustomed to sleeping on frozen ground, rocky mountainsides, and tree roots – he was as comfortable as he could have been anywhere in the wilds.

Wanderlust had awakened within his veins, inciting the Ranger to thinking of open fields and dense forests, of lakes with as much algae as water, and rivers that flowed to lands to which the roaming recluse had never been. Aragorn had never been one to stay in a single place for long, and even though he had only been in Imladris for a while, already he wished to leave.

There was nothing in Imladris for him anymore, nothing to keep him there. Since he had been a child, the Ranger had always thought of the enchanting valley as home, but he had never felt so isolated while there. Each night the Ranger bid his brothers goodnight before entering his empty room, and then, after waiting until the twins had entered their own chambers, the healer would creep into the hall and enter the Wood-Elf’s equally empty quarters. Each morning, the Ranger woke up alone in his lover’s bed.

The twins, though they had forgiven the Ranger’s rash actions, had only forgiven him in words. Neither Elladan nor Elrohir could truly forget the loss of their longtime friend, and the lack of knowledge of Legolas’ health was trying the twins’ good humor, as well, for they yearned for affirmation that the Prince was alive as much as Aragorn. His father, who was always busy with the duties he shouldered as ruler of Imladris, offered the human hope, telling Estel that Legolas would live, and that the Prince would prosper. While comforted, Aragorn was not satisfied to know that Legolas would live, not if it meant that the Elf would be living under his father’s ignorant odium and suffering the same wrath and vindictiveness of the scar’s maleficent voice. However, he did not know this to be true, or that the Wood-Elf even lived at all. The waiting wore on the Ranger’s nerves.

Several times over the past fortnight, the human had spoken with his foster father about the Prince’s survival and what could be done to ensure it. Each time, the Imladrian Lord had only made the same assurances. When finally the human had asked his father to write Thranduil or to send a messenger to Eryn Galen even should Legolas or Thranduil not send a messenger to Imladris – if only to learn of Legolas’ condition – the Elven Lord had vetoed this idea at once.

_Ada won’t interfere. It is just as Glorfindel says. Ada waits for fate to occur and forgets that it is sentient people, in addition to insentient happenstance, that causes the world to be as it is._

Estel gazed up at the sky. _Maybe the messenger has been delayed,_ the Adan comforted himself. Above him, the open sky was lit with more stars than the human could ever hope to count. _Or maybe Thranduil will not allow Legolas to send word of his welfare._ While some of the stars were bright, their scintillating luminosity never wavering for longer than the blink of an eye, other of the celestial bodies were faint, their light visible only in brief bursts of multi-hued, evanescent illumination. _Or maybe Legolas is unable to send word._ Aragorn sighed, his eyes picking out the faintest star he could find. Overhead, shadowed amongst the garish display of candescent brilliance of stars surrounding it, one star to which Estel could trace his own heritage, hung a star so soft that its pale, hoary visibility was underscored. _If he were gone, I would not even know. Thranduil would never tell us._ The star could easily have been a figment of the Ranger’s imagination. So faint was its glow, the sidereal manifestation seemed on the verge of fading into the dark, sooty sky around it, disappearing into the shadows, and its eternal life over.

 _How many Elves, Edain, Dwarves, and other creatures have seen these very orbs?_ he wondered of the vast blanket of twinkling lights above.

He was nothing without Legolas. Estel was no King – for he had renounced that path, choosing a lesser life instead. The Ranger was not wealthy, nor was he well known by Middle Earth for great deeds. He was a shade, an ephemeral penumbra along the void of mortality, and the Wood-Elf as bright as any of the stars above, the light by which the Ranger was cast into shadow, and eternal for as long as Ilúvatar indulged the creatures of his making. He only hoped that Legolas, unlike the star upon which he now gazed, would not fade into the obscurity of mortality, his life and light snuffed out by darkness.

If the Prince had indeed faded from grief, it would be rumor by which Aragorn learnt of his friend and lover’s death. The idea of this frightened him almost as much as the idea of the valiant Wood-Elf dying. He feared receiving no word of the Prince, but he feared receiving word, also, for what the word might be was frightening, as well.

He twisted where he laid, refolding his arms under his head so that the one wedged against the stone would not fall asleep.

Soon, the Ranger would rise, he would make his way to the hall of fire, and there, watch the nightly ritual of his brothers singing with the bards and dancing with the she-Elves. The twins’ hearts were not in the revelry, but unlike Aragorn, who chose to be alone with his all-consuming anxiety over Legolas’ well-being, the twins had taken their Ada’s assurances as truth and did not doubt that their Greenleaf would heal. Of course, the twins would see the Prince again, long after their human brother had passed.

And then, Aragorn would be just another nameless being, a flicker of light and then forever shadow, and only one among the many who had taken comfort from the stars. 


	58. Chapter 58

It would end where it had begun many years ago when first his father had hit him. It would end where the King had told his Prince that he wished Legolas had died. It would end where Legolas had always known it would – in his father’s study.

 _It will be alright,_ he told himself, striking the thick door with his fist to gain his father’s attention within the room. _I have suffered worse than his anger. I cannot let him stop me from leaving. Do not ask to go, but tell him of your departure,_ he advised himself, knocking again when there was no answer.

“Perhaps he has retired to his bedroom?”

Legolas glanced at his sentry, shaking his head in response to Kalin’s query. He knew that his father rarely slept in his bedroom; besides, the Prince was certain his father was within. Indeed, it was clear that the King was already soused. The rich, spicy smell of the Dorwinion wine he imbibed made Legolas’ eyes water and his skin crawl, though he could only catch the occasional whiff of the strong liquid from the draft blowing under the door. “He is here, Kalin.”

Legolas had tried several times that day to find a moment alone with his Ada so that they could speak but the day had been busy. No time had he found to speak with his father until now, when the King was within his study, drinking alone, as was his wont. _I have done this many times. His opinion should not matter._

“Call for me, Legolas, should you need me,” the sentry whispered, and then walked briskly away from the Prince, as if he were about to leave. Kalin would remain outside the King’s study, however much he had protested that he wished to be inside, instead.

Looking back to Kalin once more, he saw that the sentinel was inspecting a wall hanging – Kalin was nervous for Legolas, the laegel could tell. The sentry would not have been staring at a tapestry with such zeal had not he had his mind on other matters. _If only he could manage to stay outside the study,_ the Prince thought as he knocked upon his father’s door. Legolas did not wish for Kalin to be witness to any violence he might incur from this night’s imminent argument, nor did he want Kalin to become involved. However, if there were any trouble, Legolas knew that the sentry would not hesitate to interfere, not after all that the sentry had helped the laegel live through already.

Again, Legolas knocked on the door, this time calling out to his father as well, saying, “Ada?”

He had no more than spoke than the clanging of bottles could be heard from within, followed shortly by a muffled grunt. Several moments passed, however, before Thranduil returned his son’s call. “Come in, Legolas.”

Giving Kalin what he hoped was a reassuring smile, the Prince stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him softly.

His leg throbbed from the physical activity of the day. Legolas focused on the acute pain, for within it, buried under the simple ache of torn muscles, was the familiar, insinuating burn of something much more minatory. Shifting his weight to his uninjured leg, Legolas stood before his father, greeting him, “Good evening, Ada. I am sorry to disturb you so late.”

Thranduil was sitting on one of his low couches; the King was dressed in the finery of his station, his hair clean and braided as it should be, and the room uncluttered with wine bottles. _Not entirely uncluttered,_ Legolas noticed. Across the floor and surrounding the couch laid the empty vessels of liquor, scattered upon the carpet like the forgotten toys of a spoiled Elfling.

“Think nothing of it, Legolas. Sit,” his father implored, smiling and gesturing for Legolas to sit beside him with one hand, in which he gripped tightly a bottle of wine.

“I will not keep you, Ada.” Legolas refrained from sitting, and from kneeling before his King, though the latter he longed to do, if only to be close to the floor. One could never be close enough to the floor while speaking with Thranduil. “I only wished to tell you –”

Tossing back the remainder of his wine, Thranduil threw the bottle carelessly to the ground, where it smashed into those already there. The abrupt motion and sound broke Legolas’ concentration and his courage for a fleeting, terrifying second. He had thought his father about to strike him with the bottle. It would have been entirely unprovoked, but then, so was most of the violence perpetrated against the Prince these days. Legolas stood startled and speechless before he gathered his thoughts and tried to speak again. The King’s laughter stopped him.

Not even looking at Legolas, the King sat up and leant forward, searching the discarded bottles for one that still held wine. For the last few weeks, Thranduil had remained sober while in Legolas’ presence. But now, perhaps only because he was already drunk, the King did not even pretend to be sober, and so laughed manically at himself when he toppled the empty bottles, sending them rolling across the floor.

“Ada, please,” the Prince pled, his eyes beseeching his father to pay attention. “I need to speak with you.”

“Then do so, Legolas!” the King said, laughter still in his voice. Rolling off the couch and almost onto the floor, Thranduil’s hand finally seized an uncorked bottle. Giving a harrumph of triumph, he then prompted, “I am listening, Legolas. Speak!”

Knowing that in his drunken state Thranduil would not become any better of an audience, Legolas squared his shoulders and stated evenly, “Tomorrow morning I am leaving for Imladris.”

Thranduil’s reaction was instantaneous. Shock caused the King’s jaw to drop, but it was the narrowing of the King’s eyes that Legolas watched. His father was drunk, yes, but Thranduil need not be inebriated to be irate, and Legolas’ simple proclamation would have the King in an uproar either way.

“Imladris?” His face clearing of suspicion, Legolas’ father suddenly shook his head and chortled in disbelief. “If this is a jest, my son, you have much to learn of humor.”

His injured thigh shimmied while the rest of him trembled in time with his rapid heartbeat. _I could face a horde of Orcs and not be so frightened!_

Taking in a deep breath, only to feel sickened by the stench of wine that hung thick in the room, Legolas repeated, “I am leaving for Imladris tomorrow morning, Ada. I will return when I am able.”

The King stood from the couch, swaying as he stepped closer to Legolas to say, “You will go nowhere.”

Legolas faced his father, though he longed to drop his gaze from the King’s furious one. After these last weeks of nothing but kindness from his Ada, the Prince was loath to end the mutual amity between him and his sire. He stood stalwart, however, and told Thranduil once more, “Tomorrow morning, Ada, I will leave for Imladris. I promise, I will return next spring.”

The King threw his arms open, gesticulating wildly, which was the manner of his appearance as well when he shouted, “What of your promise to me? Can I not even trust your word?” Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest and tapped the unopened bottle of wine against his forearm in a bruising rhythm, one that the King likely did not even notice as he ranted, “You made an oath to me! You said you would not pursue this foul relationship with the human.”

“I should not have made that oath, Ada. Some promises should not be kept, because they should not have been made,” he told the King, reciting exactly what Aragorn had told the Prince on the balcony several weeks before. Estel had broken a promise to Legolas that morning in forcing the laegel to face his grief, by making the laegel do that which he had not desired to do, but the Ranger had been right to break his promise. Legolas felt it right to do so for his oath to his father, as well.

Thranduil stepped closer, the light skin of his fair features darkening with the fiery blood that spread over the King’s face. “A Prince’s word is not a thing to be given lightly, Legolas.”

 _He is trying to hold his temper,_ the Elf realized, and loved his father all the more for it. Although the King was furious, he had yet to raise his hand against his son, and although Legolas knew it would not be long before the King became violent, his father’s display of self-control was heartening. The King had tried to be a good Ada these last weeks, after all. Yet, it would be too hard for Thranduil not to slip into millennium-old habits, and soon, Legolas realized, between his anger and wine, Thranduil would lose his battle not to strike his son.

“No, Ada, it is not. I am sorry,” he said, not merely saying it as if it were expected of him, but truly meaning it. “I should not have made such a promise to you. I cannot live without Estel, father, and I do not intend to try.”

The flash of pure hatred Legolas had come to know well flickered across Thranduil’s sneering face, and then it was gone. The King nodded purposefully, before he said, “The Ranger. You would defy me for this filthy human. I would have thought you’d had enough of their kind, my son.”

Denigrating and casually cruel, his father’s insinuation was just the beginning of what was to come, but Legolas persevered. Tonight he was not merely facing his father’s unreasonable hatred, but his own self-hatred, and thus the final vestiges of the scar. If he let his father win, if he did not travel to Imladris at dawn, and if Legolas did not defend himself, he would not be granted another chance.

Legolas said the only thing that he could find to say to such cruelty; his words a mantra to convince himself as much as his father, he repeated, “I will leave for Imladris on the morrow, Ada.”

Odium, a lingering emotion that Legolas still did not understand, especially after these quiet weeks with his sovereign, cleared the King’s glower from his face, leaving only cold anger behind. “You will not, Legolas.”

“I am leaving at dawn, Ada. I will –“

The fist thrown at him was not unexpected, but the force behind it took Legolas off his guard nonetheless. It hit him squarely in his chest, driving the air from his lungs seemingly to interrupt the rapid beat of his fearful heart. He stumbled backwards. Without his cane and with his injured thigh already overtaxed, Legolas flung his hand out to find something by which to catch himself before he fell, but he grabbed only air. The Prince twisted to the side, instead, landing on his knees rather than his rear, so that he could stand quickly. He refused to stay on the ground for long.

“You will not stop me.” Legolas told his father, rising from where he had fallen on the floor, “I am leaving for Imladris tomorrow morning, with or without your blessing, Ada. And your fists will not keep me from it.”

The King’s face fell, his eyes wide with surprise, before a smirk graced his fair features. “Your words are full of courage the likes of which one as weak as you are not capable.” Hefting the bottle of wine in hand as if it were a weapon, the King taunted, “Come then, Elfling. If you feel you are grown enough to challenge the promise you made to your father, _your King,_ then show me that you are not the weak Elfling you act to be.”

He would not fight his father. Legolas remained as he was. _There are worse ways to die,_ he thought, _than by my father’s angry hands._

However, at the moment, Legolas couldn’t think of any worse a way, and from the way his father was advancing on him, the Prince wouldn’t have the time for such trivial deliberations anyway.

Determined not to show his father the import of his words or violence, the Prince kept his face carefully calm, and even when Thranduil had stepped close enough to reach Legolas, the Prince did not react as his Ada grabbed the front of his tunic. Twisting his hand in the fabric, the King wrenched the Prince to him, towering over the younger, shorter Elf.

“Where is your courage?” the King taunted, shaking the Prince by his hold of his son’s tunic. “You plan to leave on the morrow – or so you claim.” Pushing the Silvan back roughly as he released the cloth, Thranduil challenged, “But you will not. Not while I still breathe.”

Again, the laegel stumbled backwards; though this time he kept his balance, wavering only a moment until he was upright and ostensibly composed once more. Never would he dare to fight his King, his father, and that Thranduil thought his son would do so only evinced to Legolas that the King truly did not know his progeny. Straightening his shoulders, the Prince replied, “I will leave on the morrow, Ada, and I will not fight you.”

Thranduil sneered, his mottled face, reddened in part by both his fury and the bottles of wine he had consumed, looked wolfish as he strode forward to close the space between him and Legolas once more. “You are not leaving. You gave me your word. You are _my_ son, not Elrond’s, and I will not have you gadding around Imladris, shaming me with your false love for the human. Your place is here, with me.”

“I will return home to you,” he promised, using the lull in brutality to try to speak with his father, to reason, though such a thing had never worked before. “Ada –”

“You leave me again. You always leave me.” The King sounded childish and lost, and highly virulent. “And now you leave for nothing more than to rut that repulsive Adan.”

Hearing his father speak of Aragorn in such a manner roused the Prince’s defense of his lover, and he spoke without thinking of the consequences of his words, “Do you blame me for accepting love where it was offered? You have offered me none.” He watched with self-destructive glee as the King turned pale, the anger in Thranduil’s face now simmering under a mask of disbelief that his son would ever oppose him so openly. “Do not deny me the only happiness I have found, for I have found none in your presence,” Legolas added.

“How dare you speak to me in such a way? You have been given more than you could have hoped for, more than you deserve, fool.” Thranduil swept his arms out, indicating with the breadth of his limbs the fine decorations in the room, as he said, “You are a Prince, not some servant in the castle, or some lowly plaything for a human… a human who has forsaken his throne and hides from his responsibilities. You belittle yourself to consort with that foul Ranger.”

His father did not understand him. The King spoke of finery and consumption, of stature and prestige, while Legolas spoke only of love and affection, of acceptance and understanding. The import of Kalin’s words many days ago finally hit the Prince. Father and son were indeed alike, for neither knew the other at all.

“Perhaps Estel has forsaken his birthright,” the Prince admitted, “but I would rather be a pauper with him than be miserable here amongst your expensive chattel.” Stepping away from the wall, and towards his fuming father, Legolas told the King, “Do these things make you happy then, Ada? Has your wine and treasure replaced Naneth’s love in your heart?” Again, the invective had left Legolas’ mouth before he could stifle it, and though he felt joy to have wounded his father’s ego so, Legolas also felt shame, for he had not wished to demean himself by complying with his father’s habit of malice. “You say you do not love your wine more than me, but you have yet to prove it.”

The Elvenking’s face paled further. Legolas’ charge of Thranduil’s character shocked his father. “I have nothing to prove to you. You are the human’s whore,” the vindictive King whispered, the rancorous epithet causing Legolas to shrink against the wall behind him. More loudly this time, and with more indignant ire, the King roared, “Whore! You are a spoilt and disgraceful child.”

Aberrant and mercurial, a susurration of discontent began to stir within the young Wood-Elf; Legolas closed his eyes at the familiar sensation. _Do not come back,_ he told his thigh, reaching out behind him to steady himself when the weight of standing on his injured leg became suddenly too much and he nearly fell from the abrupt numbness spreading throughout his body.

 _Ada will not win. I will not capitulate. I am not his victim, I am his son,_ the laegel told himself, opening his eyes just in time to see his father barreling towards him.

The King lunged at Legolas fist first, his clenched hand striking Legolas directly in his mouth. Instantly, the Prince’s lip split from the blow, blood covering Legolas’ tongue and teeth even as his father grabbed his tunic to keep the rickety younger Elf upright. Expecting his father to throw more insults, rather than fists, Legolas waited for his father’s logic, for the King’s argument as to why his son was a disappointment to him, and why the Prince deserved this violence.

Instead of words, there came only more blows and pain; driving his fist into the younger Elf’s face, the King struck Legolas once more, and then again, and again, each time causing Legolas’ head to batter against the wall behind him. His vision dark, tasting blood, and only vaguely aware of the pain as his body grew deadened – as it always did to his Ada’s violence – the Wood-Elf struggled to evade more blows. However, Thranduil let go of the Silvan, who fell promptly into a heap on the floor, sliding against the wall on his way down.

Before he had the chance to move away from Thranduil, the King’s hard boot dug into the Prince's ribs with a violent kick that knocked the laegel onto his side, where he wrapped his arms around his middle. All air left him. He gasped instinctively for the breath to beg his father to listen, to stop. “Ada…”

But he could not find the breath and Thranduil’s blows did not stop. Using his feet to kick the downed laegel, leaning down to Legolas to bludgeon the rising Prince with his fists, the King vented his rage on Legolas, making it difficult for the younger Elf to draw in enough air to clear his head, to act, to escape. “You disgust me, Legolas. Rise and fight like a warrior!”

Stamping his son’s torso with the hard sole of his boot, putting as much force behind each fall of his foot as he could muster, Thranduil grunted and panted at the exertion. Never knowing where the blows would land, Legolas moved his arms to cover his already aching and abused head, leaving his body open to the King’s aggression. From different parts of his body – his back, his sides, his chest, his legs, and especially his arms from where he tried to protect his face and head from Thranduil’s feet – pain erupted. Quite literally, it seemed to Legolas, the King was trying to grind his son into the stone floor; however, the beating stopped before the Prince lost consciousness. The young Elf was left with silence and agony.

He rolled to his back, his arms falling away from his face. Gulping air and biting back a moan as the attempt to breathe properly stretched his aching ribs and chest, the laegel looked up. Blurred with blood and tears of pain, the Prince saw with his clouded vision that his father was standing over him.

“Get up,” the King ordered, glaring down to where Legolas lay limp and unresponsive on the floor. Even should he have desired to stand, the Prince did not think he could. “Up, Legolas,” Thranduil demanded again, reaching down to seize Legolas’ tunic to haul to the slighter Elf up from the ground.

As he was dragged into standing, Legolas attempted to place his feet under him, but his marred and throbbing leg would not obey him. His head lolled on his neck, his arms would not work, and the thick haze of unconsciousness, the result of hitting his head so many times against the wall and floor, kept his resistance at a minimum.

“Stand, Legolas!” his father shouted. Growling, the King lugged Legolas with him as he walked across the room, flinging the Prince towards the desk. Tumbling into the tall table, Legolas’ head first connected with the slab of wood on its front, before his lower back hit the sturdy legs.

Stooping down to pick up a wine bottle from the floor, the King threw the glass container at the Prince, where it bounced painfully off the back of Legolas’ upper neck. “Stand, filth!” Grabbing another bottle from the floor, Thranduil threw this one as well. It struck the laegel between his shoulder blades, causing him to falter as he tried to rise.

He could not stand. He could not do this. He could not fight his father.

 _Please,_ he told his healing thigh, for he could feel its agreement with Thranduil. _Leave me be._

Thranduil had won. Legolas would not go to Imladris. He would languish here in Mirkwood until his grief took him, if his father did not kill him now. He would reconcile himself to this fate. He would never see Aragorn again.

 _No,_ he told the scar. _I will not bow to you or my father any longer. I will see Estel again._

Legolas grappled with the desk to gain purchase on the slick surface, for his hands were already covered in blood from his bleeding mouth and nose. In trying to rise, the laegel laid his torso upon the desk, for his leg still would not obey him and Legolas could not seem to attain his balance.

A shadow fell across him.

Unexpected memories of Kane’s abuse – of the merchant leaning him over the high-backed chair in the guest bedroom, the feeling of the wood digging into his hips, the unwanted touch of the human – all of this rushed back to Legolas in a moment of terror, pure and consuming. He was helpless, at the mercy of forces not within his control, and the object of someone else’s demented enjoyment. Thranduil stood behind where his son lay on his belly across the desk with his feet struggling to stand on the ground; the Elf-King’s proximity awoke within the Elf Prince a deep-rooted, primal fear.

His father’s touch was not one of lust, of course, but hatred and possession in a more deceitful sense, for Thranduil was supposed to love his son. Therefore, when the King’s hands grabbed Legolas' hips to pull him from off the desk and likely to throw him to the floor once more, memory and reality melded together, and nothing existed for the Prince but the desire to live, to take whatever means necessary to assure his own survival and never again experience the shame and pain of being taken against his will.

Lashing out behind with his arm, Legolas’ rampant swing hit the King across his throat, his forearm connecting with his father’s windpipe. Thranduil released his son at once and stumbled back, both hands over his neck, and coughed as he grunted in anger and unexpected pain.

 _Get up,_ Legolas yelled to himself and tried to stand again.

After a few short barks of coughing, Thranduil recovered quickly; however, Legolas, now driven by fear rather than courage, had managed to pull himself off the table and onto his feet, though he soon found the King’s hands on his back, pushing him back down to the desk.

Thranduil was drunk, and his time spent in luxury, rather than in training, had slowed the King’s reflexes – at least in comparison to Legolas. The laegel rolled across the edge of the desk, the sharp corner gouging into his belly as he finally ran out of wood expanse across which to maneuver.

Out of his father’s reach, he scrambled to grab from the floor the empty wine bottle that his father had earlier thrown at him. “Do not touch me,” he warned his father once he had reached his feet and held the bottle out, his hand steady though he tottered on his feet. “If you hit me again, I will kill you.”

Laughing, Thranduil walked forward, his mouth already open to taunt the Prince. Clearly, he did not believe the Silvan, but when the laegel smashed the glass container against the edge of the desk, breaking the bottle with a short, furious rap so that its once smooth and blunt bottom was now a ring of jagged shards, Thranduil stopped short.

 _You threaten your own father’s life,_ the scar told him, and as he watched Thranduil’s surprise turn to anger, Legolas realized that the mar spoke truthfully. Indeed, he was threatening his King, his _father_.

More importantly, the laegel was cognizant of the fact that should Thranduil approach him further, he would make good on his threat.

Without warning, the door behind the King burst open and through it came Kalin, who had finally endured enough of listening to the fight outside the room and now entered to stop the altercation. While Thranduil turned to the disturbance, Legolas only watched the King, waiting for his Ada to attack him again, his breath loud as he gasped to take air into his beaten chest.

“Legolas,” the fair sentry whispered, horrified to find the laegel wielding a broken bottle towards Thranduil.

Hesitating a moment in indecision, and looking between the Prince and King as if wondering whom he should be protecting from whom, the kind Wood-Elf finally crossed the King’s study, passing by the Woodland sovereign without greeting and coming to Legolas.

He walked to the laegel with confidence, certain that Legolas would not harm him, though the Prince appeared wild as he watched the sentry approach. Kalin held out his hand, asking without words for the makeshift weapon. He stared at the sentry for a moment without moving, but Legolas soon turned over his weapon grudgingly and nearly fell to his knees to the floor when the import of what he had been doing hit him; then followed the scar’s voice.

_All these years he has called you a traitor to him, your land, and people, and now you have finally become one._

Urgent hatred beat upon his faer in a pattern no less unforgiving or raging than the King’s beating had come. Seeing Kalin standing before him, showing the same shock and distaste for his actions that he should be feeling, as well, caused Legolas to close his eyes against the sight. Before the Prince could apologize to his King, to ameliorate what he knew would now become an even more violent situation, Thranduil had taken the opportunity of Kalin’s inattention and Legolas’ closed eyes.

Bounding forward, Thranduil shoved Kalin from his way, sending the sentry reeling to the side in the King’s effort to attain Legolas. Thranduil tackled the unsuspecting laegel, driving the young Wood-Elf backwards into the desk behind him once again, and tumbling them both to the floor when neither could retain his balance.

The instinctual fear and anger stemming from his utmost need for survival had fled the laegel – while Thranduil rammed his elbow against the Prince’s stomach, growling as he did so, Legolas only laid against the stone floor, accepting his father’s aggression. His body curled upon itself in pain, but he did not try to block the blow when Thranduil threw another fist, this time striking Legolas’ side.

The sovereign grabbed Legolas’ face and held the Prince to the carpet by it; Thranduil ranted, “You dare to threaten your King?”

Crawling over Legolas to push the younger Elf to his back, Thranduil ground his knee unwittingly against Legolas’ marred, aching, and contumelious thigh. The agony spread through the Wood-Elf like fire through the dry, withered leaves of the autumn, and he cried out his pain, while the King’s presence above him disappeared unexpectedly.

With his arms under the King’s, Kalin hauled his sovereign from atop his Prince, dragging the irate Thranduil away from Legolas. “Let go of me, Kalin, or you will be spending tonight in the dungeons,” Thranduil shouted.

The sentry replied as vehemently as Thranduil had, “I will let go of you if you calm, my King! I am not sitting by while you kill the Prince!”

A brief struggle must have ensued, for the Prince heard the grunts and curses as Kalin fought for supremacy over the struggling sovereign, but Legolas saw none of this until he raised himself from the floor.

“Get out, sentry, before I call for the guards to throw you out! You shirk your duties by siding with my traitorous son.”

Kalin had thrown the King onto a couch and now stood before where Thranduil sat, his arms splayed out to stop any attempt the drunken elder might make to evade him, to harm Legolas again. “My duty is to protect the Prince, your Majesty, even if it means protecting him from you,” Kalin countered.

The sentry’s rejoinder caused Thranduil’s indignation to deflate, and he sat back into the full cushions of the couch, where he crossed his arms over his chest to glare defiantly at the stronger, sober sentry, and then gave the Prince a glower of promise.

The fight was not over. Thranduil would seek his revenge later, the Prince knew, unless he could manage to stand up to his father and leave for Imladris come dawn as he planned.

 _You are weak, Legolas. You let another fight your battles for you once again,_ the perfidious hatred within the laegel told him. _You should not have fought against your father. You are a traitor._

Legolas bowed forward, placing both his hands on the carpet before him as he struggled to keep his immediate anguish from showing, and hiding his face so that neither his father or Kalin would have any hint of his underlying need to purge the hateful voice that haunted him. Wishing he had kept the bottle, if only to gouge at the barely healed flesh of his thigh, Legolas stared at the floor between his hands. Drops of blood fell from his mouth and nose to the floor, soaking into the wine stained carpet with darker sanguine marks. Upon the carpet lay circles of light from the fire nearby and the candles placed around the room – outside, the dark night in the forest called to the Elf. He wanted to be here no longer.

_You will abandon your father again for nothing more than to rut a human._

He felt his sentry near; Kalin was placing his hands on the Prince’s shoulders and speaking to him quietly, imploring the laegel to do or say something, but Legolas' hearing was only for the scar.

_Ada is right. You are nothing, you are weak, and you are a whore._

He could not live like this. He refused to live a life that only offered him pain and suffering, both of faer and rhaw.

_Your father will kill you and he would be right to do so. You abandon him. You are weak, a disappointment._

He saw that Thranduil rose from his seat on the couch and walked closer to stand behind the now frantic Kalin. He approached without qualm, for Legolas was on the floor, seemingly bowing before his King penitently, as Thranduil had always expected of his son.

Turning his eyes back to the floor, Legolas watched the drops of blood amassing on the carpet as another wave of despair crawled over him, moving up his spine thickly, and causing Legolas to cry out a plaintive, brief expulsion of his dolor and grief. It took Thranduil by surprise, for he stopped his renewed advancement on the now disarmed laegel, and Kalin, too, startled at the sudden wail from the Prince.

“Leave me be,” Legolas whispered, squeezing his healing flesh with one of his bloodied hands.

Kalin desperately fought with his Prince’s fingers ere he finally managed to pry the younger Elf’s gouging digits from his thigh. He then held Legolas’ bloodied hands between his own. “Do not do this, Legolas. Tell him of the scar, my Prince.” Holding the Silvan’s shoulders up in both moral and physical support, Kalin requested of him, “Tell your father what it tells you. Tell him whose opinions it holds.”

The Prince looked to his sentry and wondered why his friend would expose him in this way. Thranduil was not a rational Elf, and for the Prince, the idea of explaining to his father that his son was mad, that Legolas heard voices, rent his own flesh to rid himself of them, and that the voice was the ephemeral, phantom, and very vocal umbrage that Thranduil held for Legolas was a suicidal idea indeed. The younger Elf shuddered, his body wracked with consuming fear.

 _His opinion of me could grow no worse,_ the Prince told himself, looking up to his father.

Thranduil snorted his supercilious scorn and eyed Legolas with disgust. The Prince’s face was covered in slowly swelling bruises, his hair matted to his mouth and nose with sticky blood, and his body bent and off kilter from the pains of his being battered.

“What madness is this, Legolas?”

The King had asked with more curiosity than spite, and his father already thought him mad – the Prince would tell the King, if only to shed this burden. Wiping at his bloodied face with the sleeve of his tunic, Legolas nodded. He would see this through to the end.

He had never explained to his Ada the circumstances surrounding the night he had hewn his flesh with the dagger, nor had he ever intimated the underlying madness behind his actions. If he ever wanted to be free of his own self-hatred, then he would need to unburden himself from his Ada’s loathing. It was time to tell his father.

“It is the scar,” he said, pulling away from Kalin’s helping hands when the sentry tried to aid Legolas into sitting. The laegel sat on his own, using the desk behind him to pull himself up as he spoke, “It is the scar that torments me.” Leaning against the table for support so that he would not fall over, Legolas held one arm across his aching belly and ribs and with the other held himself upright. “Or what was once the scar.”

The King shifted where he stood and blamed, “You speak nonsense, Legolas.”

“Quiet, Thranduil,” the sentry warned, for the moment giving no thought to ordering his liege. He smiled encouragingly, wretchedly at the Prince. “Tell him of its origins. Tell him what it says.”

Legolas took a deep breath and began again, “When I was attacked in Lake-town by the merchants, two of them took me into the woods to kill me. I escaped by climbing into a tree, but one of them pulled me down, and a broken branch gouged my thigh.” Not meeting his father’s trenchant glare, the Prince admitted, “Since then, it is as if the scar speaks to me. It tells me that Estel does not love me, that he only desires my subjugation. It tells me that I should have died, that I should die now.”

“The scar speaks to you?” the King snorted again in derision, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is madness.”

He hung his head, not wanting to face his father’s censure. _I should not have told him. The scar is my fault. The scar is me. I cannot blame the merchants for it, nor him. His blame and hatred have become my own._

The King said, speaking to the sentry as if only just remembering he was in the room, “This is not grief, Kalin. Grief would not cause a Prince to threaten his King.”

“You almost beat him into the ground, your Majesty! Why would he not want to kill you?” the sentry exclaimed, before his eyes grew wide when he realized he had just criticized his King. However, after years of watching in silence as his Prince suffered at his King’s hands, and in defense of his ailing, beloved charge, Kalin could not contain himself and so argued, “Perhaps it _is_ madness, but Legolas was tormented. He has only survived his grief by pushing it away. And his only reason to survive was his love for you and his friends.”

As he stepped closer to the King, Kalin huffed in frustration and could not hold his tongue. “This scar was caused by his grief; it came about because your son did not wish to cause you pain or shame. If he is mad, then it is your fault!” the sentry ended, flushed with embarrassment to be speaking to his sovereign so, but too caught up in his anger to hold his tongue.

Thranduil’s eyes had narrowed to mere slits. He stepped closer to Kalin at the insult, but the Prince interrupted whatever his father might say, asking of the sentry, “Leave us, Kalin. I wish to speak with the King alone.”

Kalin shook his head and moved to stand between father and son. “I will not, Legolas. Your father is the one who is mad! He would –“

“Enough,” the Prince interrupted with a fierce bellow, though it hurt his aching chest to speak, much less shout. “You will not speak of my father in such a way!”

Looking mortified, realizing he had gone too far, Kalin became suddenly pale, but Legolas waved off any apology and lowered his voice as he told the sentry again, “It is not my father’s fault that I could not face my grief, that I am weak. I could not fight its influence. I allowed Kane to use me to pacify its hatred. I tried to cut it out to end its recriminations." Lowering his head, Legolas added, "My mind is no longer sound.”

Realizing that his son spoke the truth about the scar, as mad as it seemed, Thranduil asked, “Why would you hide such a thing from me? You did not tell me of the merchants’ attack in Lake-town or of this lunacy. Why?”

“I did not want you to know,” the laegel whispered, for he could not find the courage to speak loudly what he had never wanted to say. “I could not tell you that it is your opinion that holds paramount sway over me, because I knew that you would use it against me.”

His father might use this knowledge against him now, Legolas realized, but Thranduil did not, for he hissed, “You have never listened to me. You care not a whit for your father’s opinion; else you would not cavort with the Ranger and the patronizing Noldor.”

Legolas shook his head in confusion, befuddled to think that his father truly did not know. “All I have cared for was your opinion,” the laegel whispered, wiping at his bleeding nose again. “You find me weak, foolish. I have tried all my years to please you. Never has your opinion of me changed, until I no longer tried to earn your respect.” Leaning back into the desk, Legolas fought a wave of dizziness and gripped the table’s leg hard while he held one arm tighter across his bruised belly. “And I have cared too much for your opinion. No longer, Ada. I will not endure your censure when I have done nothing wrong.”

“It is your opinion that the scar gives him, your Majesty. It is your voice that it uses when it berates the Prince, when it tells him he should die, or that he is a disgrace, a whore, and weak.” The sentry’s anger was not appeased, and he paced to the King and back to Legolas in agitation.

Thranduil was flabbergasted; he stared at Legolas with bewilderment. The Prince watched his father as the King’s face cleared of confusion and his eyes grew wide as some understanding dawned upon him. The sybaritic King fell heavily into sitting on the floor before his couch, amidst his wine bottles, and with his robes knotted about his legs.

Legolas asked of his sentry, “Leave us, Kalin, please.” When it seemed that Kalin would argue once more against allowing the brutally beaten and bleeding Prince to stay alone with his attacker, father or not, Legolas told his faithful sentry and friend in a voice hoarse with pain, “I need to speak with the King alone.”

The sentry nodded. Kalin left the room without a fuss, but let the door stand ajar. _He will be waiting outside, at ready should anything else happen,_ the Prince knew.

For a few moments, son and sire only sat on the ground, looking to each other as Legolas tried to think of a propitiative way to tell his father what he needed to say. However, the King soon rose onto his knees and then grabbed the couch behind him with his hands, which were grimy with the Prince’s blood, and left ruby prints upon the aged fabric of the sofa. Fumbling with his robes to straighten them, the King walked towards the laegel, while Legolas tensed in response.

 _I should not have let Kalin leave,_ the laegel worried immediately, his fear rising with his father’s approach. His belief that his father would seek to finish the beating he had started earlier, to end Legolas’ life as if this would mollify the perdition of ever losing the Prince, surfaced such that when Thranduil knelt before the younger Elf, Legolas scrambled to the side so that he could evade more cruelty. He crawled onto his knees, his cracked ribs and contused back protesting his movement. But the King reached for his son. He held onto the Prince’s arms, pulling Legolas back to him before the frightened young Wood-Elf could get away.

“I cannot claim to understand this scar, or what influence it holds over you, my son. I did not know you suffered so, that you truly felt grief, for you have shown me naught of it,” the Woodland King claimed with a tearful sob.

He wrapped his arms around the struggling laegel, wrenching the Prince’s body to his own, though Legolas twisted as he tried to escape his father’s grasp, and the King ended up hugging the young one’s back to him, instead. “You have never seemed to care that you wound me, Legolas. You left me here to worry over you while you visit the Noldorin twins, Elrond, and the Ranger. Long have I tried to keep you here, but you flee.”

Of course, the Prince had been careful never to show his father how much his words and hatred hurt him, or to tell him of his suffering, which in turn, it seemed, had led Thranduil to increase his violence to augment his control over his progeny.

Thinking this very thing, the Wood-Elf considered grappling with the leg of the desk to pull himself away from the King, but feared to incur more abuse for his efforts. “If I flee, it is only to escape your wrath, Ada,” the Prince told his father softly. “I do not deserve it.”

Laying his head between the younger Elf’s shoulders, Thranduil’s body shook with sobs, thereby shaking the Prince’s body even more than it already did. “You do not deserve it, Legolas,” the King agreed. “You are not weak, my son. It is I who am weak. I have pushed away the only thing I had left since your Naneth died. I am sorry, Legolas. I have tried to hate you so that loving you does not pain me. I have tried to keep you from leaving me as your mother has, but you only hate me for it. Please do not abandon me, Legolas.”

It was a poor excuse that the King gave for his odious behavior, but then, Legolas had been influenced into submitting to Kane, to wounding himself severely, for reasons no better than Thranduil’s justifications. As always, his father now apologized and showed his own grief in hopes of placating his son, of making the laegel believe that this time Thranduil was sorry, and that he would change. Where his words and violence had failed, the King perhaps hoped his tears would succeed.

“Your apology is too late, Ada,” the Prince told his father as he was finally able to jerk himself out of the King’s hold. “You cannot apologize for your behavior but never change it. It means nothing.”

His vision blackening as his battered body remonstrated the abrupt and painful action, Legolas walked upon his knees until he was out of his King’s reach, and then turned to face his father, holding himself up by his hands when vertigo made the room spin around him.

In a heap against the desk, Thranduil sobbed. The King appeared pathetic and afraid, just as Legolas had felt much of his life when in his Ada’s presence. While his father had been trying to control his son, to keep Legolas with him and presumably safe so that Thranduil would not suffer losing the Prince, the Prince had been controlling his emotions to keep himself from being hurt, as well.

 _We are much alike,_ Legolas thought, _but I wish to be like him no longer. I will not live my life in fear._ _I will not be numbed, not by wine or this malady that makes me such._

He would give his father as many chances as Thranduil required. He would not give up on his Ada the way the King had given up on his son. Legolas did not wish to leave his father in such a state, but Legolas was not unflawed, and nor could he continue his life trying to be perfect for his father. He could not deny himself the only love and acceptance he had found since his Naneth had passed so long ago. He had the rest of his immortality to spend with his father, to make amends – he had only a short mortal lifetime to spend with his Ranger.

“In the morning I leave for Imladris,” the Prince said again, certain that he would do just that. “I should not have promised to stay with you, Ada.”

He could see the betrayal in the King’s face. Thranduil had tried very hard these past weeks to be the father he should have been, and this effort, it must have seemed to the King, had been wasted, for his son would now leave him, abandoning him as he always did.

The King, who thought his son had never listened to him, had truly never listened to his son, and so it was with unwillingness that the Wood-Elf tried to explain, to reason, saying, “I love Estel. Without him, I will fade.” When the King only shook his head in denial of what his son spoke to him, Legolas told his father what Kalin had advised the Prince weeks before. “One must take chances. You must chance that I will not return, else you will lose me here from sorrow. I go now with your blessing, Ada, or eventually I will leave and will not return by choice.”

Whether this pacified the sobbing King or not, and whether his father would allow him to go or not, Legolas did not wait to find out. He crawled onto his knees again, using the wall behind him for balance as his tired, beaten body swayed precariously.

_If he does not give his blessing, I will be in the dungeons before sunrise._

As he wobblingly crossed the room, Legolas sighed. Blood bubbled past his lips and fell onto his chin; he wiped it away absently. “I love you, Ada. I will come back to you,” he promised, clarifying, “if I can. I will always come back to you if I can.” With this, he opened the study door, slipping out of it as best he could.

He had no more than shut the door behind him than an arm slipped through his, providing him with support. “My Prince?” the sentry prompted.

“We are leaving for Imladris in the morning, Kalin. Let us prepare.”

“Let us wait,” the sentry asked, leading the laegel to the hidden staircase behind the tapestry. Neither Kalin nor the wounded and bleeding laegel wished to walk through the busy halls of the palace, and so they undertook the arduous task of climbing the many stairs up to the Prince’s rooms. “We can leave the next day. Or even a week from now. You are injured. Let me take you to the healers.”

“We are going to the healers,” the younger Elf declared, smiling at his sentry, and thereby showing his bloodied teeth in macabre humor. “Lord Elrond and his sons are the best Elven healers in all of Middle Earth.”

The sentry was unamused and only frowned fretfully at the Prince; however, Kalin nodded and continued their haste.

It had taken millennia to build the dysfunctional relationship between sire and son. It had taken only one night for it all to be razed to its foundation. As he walked with his sentry up the stairs, forced into taking breaks each time his pain kept him from continuing, Legolas only hoped that when he returned to his Ada, it would not be years before sire and son had rebuilt their bond, and that this time, they would not be building walls between them.


	59. Chapter 59

At any moment, his Ada might storm through the door, demanding that the Prince be locked in his room or worse yet, thrown into the dungeons for his threats upon the King’s life. Legolas watched the door to his chambers, awaiting the inevitable, renewed obstacle of his father trying to keep him from the Ranger. No such attempt came.

“Are you certain that you will not postpone this, Legolas? You will not be backing down if you wait until you are well,” Kalin asked as he helped the laegel into sitting upon his bed.

“My father will have won if I do not leave at dawn.” Legolas settled onto the bed, drawing his wounded body upon itself when the stretch of his contused limbs and torso wrenched an unwilling moan of pain from him. At the sound, Kalin frowned and prepared to argue, but the Prince interrupted, telling his friend, “Besides, if I let his beating me keep me here, what incentive has he to stop? If I wait a few days, then he will only beat me again.”

Kalin sighed and looked down at his Prince’s blood covered hands. “I cannot believe that we are not both in the dungeons. The King would never have suffered to have a lowly sentry speak to him so! And to have his son threaten his life…”

At the reminder of his actions earlier and noting his sentry’s inspection of his bloody hands, Legolas rubbed his fingers into his ruined tunic. “Then it is all the more important that we leave before he comes to his senses.”

Nodding, Kalin knelt on the floor before Legolas. “My Prince,” the sentry began, hesitating with a purse of his lips before he asked, “the scar spoke to you again tonight?”

There was no point in lying, nor did Legolas wish to mislead his friend. “Yes,” he whispered, “but it is quiet now.”

“I thought the scar had spoken its last,” Kalin said with a sigh and placed a hand on either of the Prince’s knees. “Perhaps once we are away from Thranduil, its voice will silence for good.”

He did not correct the sentry, but thought to himself, _It is not my father’s hatred that the scar uses against me. It will only silence if my own loathing is confronted._ However, unlike his father’s hatred, he could not merely brazen himself. _I will need to speak with Minyatar of this. He will know what I should do._

To his sentry, the laegel assured, “Perhaps, but let us not be bothered by it. I will seek Lord Elrond’s advice on the matter.”

Again, his fellow Wood-Elf nodded, at peace by the laegel’s words, and then reached for the Prince’s tunic’s ties, telling him, “Let me tend your wounds.”

“Do not worry. I am fine.” Again, Kalin prepared to argue, which left Legolas somewhat amused to see that the sentry, once reserved to disagree with his Prince, was reticent no longer. Holding up his hands to stave off the sentry’s quarrel, and then dropping them when remembering that they were soiled with his own essence, Legolas explained, “I will see to my own injuries. Besides, if I do not bathe, I will attract every creature in the forest with the smell of Elf blood.”

Kalin stood, allowing the Prince room to stand as well, and helped him out of his tunic before he replied, “Then I will gather your things, Legolas. The night leaves us, and soon it will be dawn.”

Intent upon changing out of his claret stained leggings as soon as possible, the Prince picked up the cane where he had left it on the bed before meeting with his Ada, and settled his weight upon it. His thigh burned with the agony of its new maltreatment and the lingering detestation buried under the sinew and flawed skin.

His father’s hatred, however, was gone from him. Its familiarity, its strangling presence so pervasive in his faer, left the Prince dispossessed now that it had been extirpated – for many years, all that he had known from his King had been hatred, and so without this, there was nothing to bind him to his Ada’s opinion or thinking any longer. The voice of the scar was quiet for now.

As he walked by Kalin, he saw his sentry open the armoire doors to find the Prince’s provisions, which he did without vacillation, as if he had known all along where the satchel and weapons were hidden on the lowest of the shelves under a pile of clothing.

 _Perhaps he_ did _know,_ Legolas thought to himself, taking the traveling attire that the sentry offered him as he hobbled past. _Kalin has always made a habit of knowing me better than I know myself._

Quickly, Legolas disrobed and stepped into the tub with care. His entire body ached. Although he could not see his back or face, his wiry chest, arms, and his long legs were besmirched with blackening marks. Nowhere on his body, it seemed, had escaped his father’s wrath. He cleaned himself standing under the open faucet in his bathing tub. The water poured over him, soothing his aching flesh with its cool temperature. When his hair no longer clung to his face from the sticky blood there, he climbed from the tub to find a towel.

“My Prince,” the sentry sighed, and Legolas turned to the sound, feeling no discomfiture for his friend to see him nude and bleeding – not after the sentry had helped Thranduil bathe him and had aided the laegel in his struggles these past months. “You are more bruise than Elf.”

The Wood-Elf chuckled in sudden heartfelt glee, for he remembered a time when the Ranger had told the Prince something similar upon the mountainside, having said to Legolas that he appeared to be more Orc blood than Elf, except the Prince had been covered in the black essence of a Dark creature, rather than the deepening black of contusions.

“I am, Kalin,” he agreed with another laugh. “But they are only bruises, and will fade with time.”

His odd cheerfulness only caused the sentry to become more upset. Kalin handed his Prince a towel without speaking. However, after watching the Prince pull on his leggings and before Legolas could pull his undershirt over his head, the sentry stopped him. “Let me bind your ribs, at least. It will ease your breathing.”

Legolas lifted his arms and allowed his sentry to wrap linen tightly around his chest – when finished, the Prince pulled his tunic on and then walked back to his bedchamber to stand in front of the armoire’s open door to tend his wet hair. Kalin sat patiently on the bed to wait, for they had nothing left to do but leave. Now able to see the swollen and darkening skin of his face in his mother’s mirror, Legolas could not bear to look upon his contused reflection, and plaited his hair without using the mirror again.

_I am tired of pain and bruises._

Hearing the sound of a blade being removed from its sheath, Legolas startled from his thoughts and turned to his sentry, just as Kalin commented, “I see that your father has returned your long knife to you.”

“I do not know what good I will be with weapons,” Legolas conceded. “I have held neither blade nor bow since coming home.” Counting the days quickly in his mind, he added, “A month, at least.”

As he looped the Prince’s bags and weapons over his shoulder, for the royal Elf could carry none upon his person in his bruised state, the sentry told Legolas, “A Wood-Elf never forgets how to use his bow. And if you have truly forgotten, I am sure that Lords Elladan and Elrohir can teach you all that you need to know about archery.”

It was the laegel’s turn to be confused by his sentry’s levity – it took him a moment to grasp that his serious sentry was teasing him, for his fellow Wood-Elf’s sheepish grin was slow in rising upon Kalin’s fair, somber face.

Legolas smiled and allowed his sentry to grab his arm for assistance, while he walked with Kalin from the bedroom and into the hallway, leaning upon his cane for further support. “The only safe place to stand during their archery lessons is in front of the target, my friend. I would be better off asking them to teach me to climb a tree.”

He earned a sincere snort of hilarity from his sentry, but both Legolas and Kalin turned serious upon reaching the main stairwell of the palace. There was no means of getting the Prince to the courtyard via the hidden tunnels, but now cleaned of the blood and changed from his soiled clothing, only the vivid, darkening bruises on his face and his limping gait evinced that the Wood-Elf was injured. Few Elves were milling about the palace this early in the morning, and those that did were servants, who bowed deferentially without comment or surprise to see their Prince and his head guard dressed and prepared for travel.

It did not matter now to Legolas, anyway. He was leaving. His father had not tried to stop him as of yet. Whether he would be welcomed upon his return, Legolas did not know, but now, as the Prince allowed Kalin to carry not only his bags and weapons but also much of his weight, the Wood-Elf found he did not care. Excitement began to course through him. When the two had reached the bottom of the stairs and had crossed the great hall of fire, Legolas’ fear that his father would impede his leaving began to wane even more. _He will not stop us. We will go to Imladris,_ the Prince thought with joy.

Upon exiting the great doors at the palace’s entrance, a voice hailed, “Prince Legolas. Kalin. Good morning.”

The laegel found that Oiolaire and Galendil were gathered in the courtyard, their horses prepared for travel, as were Kalin and Legolas’ mounts.

The Prince nodded warmly to them, and was happy to see that Oiolaire was as fit as he had been before being struck by the Orc arrow upon the mountainside weeks ago. _I do not mind at all if my sentries coddle me while journeying._ Being as he could barely stand, the Wood-Elf knew he could well use the extra protection.

“Arato,” he whispered in welcome to his horse. The grey, dappled mount nickered in response, blowing hot air into the Prince’s face. “I see that you are ready to leave, as well.” The stallion only rolled his brown eyes and stamped his feet, his impatience to be off no doubt the product of Legolas’ own need to leave.

Kalin tied the Prince’s belongings to his mount, and then boosted the injured laegel into sitting upon Arato, acts to which Legolas smiled his thanks and the sentry nodded in returned, friendly devotion.

“Shall we wait until the sun rises proper?” Galendil asked of Legolas, drawing his mare closer to the Prince.

He had hoped his father would show in the courtyard – not to stop the Prince from parting, but to give him his blessing for his journey, for his mere presence would have ameliorated the Wood-Elf’s fear for his Ada’s health and well-being. But the King made no appearance, nor did any try to prevent them from parting, and the guilty Legolas told himself, _I should not leave Ada in such a state._

Unwelcome guilt shadowed his excitement to be going to Imladris. He thought of what he had done and of what his father had said. Little had been settled between father and son. Legolas would go to Imladris to be with his human, male lover. He would leave his father alone with his wine and sorrow. However, he could not heal his father’s grief, nor could he even aid the King; at least, not until his own grief was overcome. He must do what was best for himself – the King certainly had his own interests and would make no concessions for his son.

 _I will return next spring,_ he promised himself, believing this as much as he believed that he would soon be on his way to Rivendell to see his friends and lover. _And then, when I return, Ada and I can try again._

“Prince Legolas?”

Kalin’s querying tone brought the subdued and beaten Prince from his ponderings, and deciding that his father would not come to see him off, he replied, “The sun will soon rise. There is no need to delay.”

Legolas turned his horse and his mind to the path ahead. He was going to Imladris. He would be with the Ranger, the twins, and Elrond. Even as he was leaving Mirkwood, which would forever be his home, Legolas knew that his true asylum he would find across the Misty Mountains, with Estel.


	60. Chapter 60

They had already been traveling for over two weeks. Legolas lived each day believing that his father would find him, that the King’s sentries would catch the Prince and his guards, and that the traitorous Kalin and treasonous Legolas would be hauled back to Greenwood to face Thranduil’s wrath.

 _Tomorrow we will be in Imladris,_ the Prince consoled himself as he settled onto the ground, his back against a friendly oak. _If Ada wishes to drag me back from the Last Homely House, Lord Elrond will no doubt have something to say about the matter._

Although the four Wood-Elves had stopped often on their journey, mostly to give the wounded Prince a chance to recover, the travelers had made good time. They stopped tonight only because the laegel could ride no more.

 _Perhaps it would be best if we dawdled in our journey,_ he contemplated as he rested his tired body. _I would rather none see the bruises my own father has left upon me._

Galendil, Oiolaire, and Kalin had doted upon the Prince more than usual – even trivial matters such as unrolling his bedroll in the tree limbs, fetching water, or feeding Arato were matters to which the sentries would not let their Prince tend. Part of this coddling was because Legolas was their Prince and they loved him, but as they had continued on their way to Rivendell, the laegel’s health had diminished. His injuries, though not made from sword or arrow, were no less serious.

There would be no lagging, however much Legolas might desire to, for the sentries wished to take their Prince to the healers, and quickly. The worst of the swelling in his face and head had lessened. Most of the bruises were now sallow, circular adumbrations that made clear the Prince had suffered recently. Other of the contusions, especially those upon his torso and back, where his father had hit him with the bottles of wine and stamped upon him with his feet, were still as black as they had been shortly after the mars had first been made. Usually bruises upon an Elf faded fairly quickly, but not when there were so many upon his person, and not with his grief and despair still hindering his healing.

Careful not to disturb these painful areas, Legolas took the last flask of water from Galendil with a grateful nod, and then watched Galendil and Oiolaire take off through the trees to find the brook nearby. Kalin and Legolas were now alone; the Prince was happy to be so. Only Kalin knew of all that had happened to the young Wood-Elf. Trying to pretend in front of his other sentries that he was not sore, solemn, and despairing wore on the laegel’s stamina.

He had not yet had the chance to speak with his sentry alone, not since the night of his argument with his father. For the last weeks, it had seemed that Kalin had something he wished to say. Now he would say it, for once the other sentries had left to find the brook that Legolas had told them of, the same brook beside which he and the Ranger had found their pleasure those many weeks ago, Kalin came to sit with Legolas.

The fair sentry fidgeted nervously. “Do you still think your father will try to force us to return?”

Legolas watched the sentry play with the ties on his boots. “I do not know, Kalin. If he does, then you and the others will go back. There is no need for us all to be in the King’s disfavor.”

“It is too late for that,” Kalin retorted with a sly, humorless smile. Appearing nervous once more, Kalin added, “I am sorry, my Prince. My anger towards your father did not grant me the right to speak about him thusly. I should not have insulted him during your argument with him.”

“You spoke truthfully, albeit too bluntly, Kalin,” the laegel forgave and returned his sentry’s smile. “But you should not be asking my forgiveness. When we return to Mirkwood, I suggest you speak with my father. I am certain that your outburst is already forgotten, for he will dwell upon my insolence, not yours; however, I would not lose my head sentry, one of my closest friends, to the border patrol because of a careless remark.”

Beaming at his Prince having called him a close friend, the Wood-Elf nodded and returned his attention to his boots.

Legolas had something he wished to say to the sentry, as well, and did so while placing his hand upon Kalin’s arm. “Thank you, my friend. I could not have faced my father without you.”

Again, the sentry nodded and smiled. The two sat in companionable silence for several moments while waiting for their fellow Wood-Elves to return with the water flasks. Kalin began fretting with his bow, testing the cord and inspecting the carved wood to ensure that it was in the excellent condition in which it would need to be should he require to use it. Legolas, on the other hand, sat staring into the dark forest.

“It might be best that we travel slowly,” he told Kalin as he had told himself just a moment earlier.

In surprised confusion, the sentry exclaimed, “You cannot tell me that you are not excited to arrive in Imladris!”

He could not deny it – his every thought was that soon he would see his Ranger and friends again. Rubbing the aching flesh of his side where his father’s foot had cracked his ribs, Legolas told his sentry, “I would not have Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, or Estel see me as such. They worry enough as it is.”

_Estel will not want you. You have betrayed him._

Legolas let loose a ragged breath. The voice gave him no forewarning anymore – it recommenced in sporadic episodes of loathsome advice and premonitory insinuations at every inopportune moment, at his every wavering in thought or decisiveness.

_You have forsaken your father for a human who has already taken from you what he has wanted. You are used._

“Legolas,” the sentry spoke softly, for he knew why the Prince had become suddenly reticent and withdrawn. He could tell by the way in which the younger Elf’s head tilted to the side that Legolas listened to the foul, internal voice. “Bear its voice only a while longer, my Prince. In Imladris it will quiet. Lord Elrond will see to it.”

He had not the heart to remind Kalin that though by far the most competent healer in all of Middle Earth, Lord Elrond could not heal this mar within the Prince. The numbness was gone from Legolas – it had left by way of the Ranger’s touch, by the rejoining of Legolas’ rhaw and faer on the balcony when Aragorn had held him. Legolas had faced the grief caused by his rape and abuse at the merchants’ hands, and had chosen to live. His father’s hatred was absent from him, for this too had he overcome in revoking his father’s hold of him. The Prince had only his own self-loathing to confront now.

Some of this loathing expelled from him now before he could stop it. “What if Estel desires me no longer?”

Kalin huffed in disbelief, exclaiming, “That is lunacy, Legolas. He…” Upon realizing he had questioned his Prince’s sanity, Kalin apologized immediately, offering, “I’m sorry. I did not mean…”

But the Prince only smiled. “Do not worry over it.”

Drawing his knees up to his aching chest, the laegel listened to the soft footsteps of his fellow Wood-Elves coming near. There was a time in the past several months when his mind would have been too preoccupied with his grief to hear the subtle sounds of an Elf walking. In fact, there had been a particular time when his despair had kept him from hearing the sounds of approaching feet, but he shook off this recollection of Sven and Cort’s sudden attack upon him and the Ranger in the forest.

_I let down my guard then. I have not been attentive. My mind is not sound._

He asked his sentry without thinking of his words, “What if this is a mistake, Kalin? I have left my father to wallow in his grief and wine, while I travel to a place that I am not even certain I am wanted any longer.”

“If this is a mistake, Legolas, then you will have been wrong, and we will leave.” Kalin shrugged to emphasize his point. “You are not infallible. But I do not believe you are wrong. Lord Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, and especially Estel will welcome you with open arms.”

“You are right, Kalin,” the Prince told his sentry, his confidence renewed for a brief, wonderful moment in thinking that he would truly be fine. “Tomorrow night we will be in Imladris, and all will be well.”

When the sentries came through the bushes, the smile their Prince gave them was not a forced one.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night wore on slowly, and Estel’s tiredness, an effect from little sleep and too much worry, had the Ranger dozing between the dreams of his sleeping and those of his waking.

He recalled the Wood-Elf vibrant and well, not pale, desolate, and beaten as he had been last the Ranger had seen him. The vision of the Prince lying on his side before Estel on the bed in the laegel’s chambers, spreading his leg to give the human access to his innermost area, his private gift to the Adan and the Adan alone, came to the Ranger’s mind, and he groaned at the memory. The laegel’s stretched, lithe limbs, his smooth skin, and the golden nest of curls that surrounded his beautiful, long shaft – he thought of these things as he lay in bed, waiting for another night to be over.

The silken feeling of the Prince’s opening, the incredible warmth and tightness of being inside the Wood-Elf – _his_ Wood-Elf. The inescapable scent of bergamot and pine that seemed ever-present on his lover and the way that Legolas had so shamelessly presented himself for their pleasure. Rushing to the forefront of his somnolent mind, the images of Legolas as he once was, as the Ranger had so briefly known him to be, built a need within Estel that he tried desperately to ignore.

Certainly, he had taken care of his physical needs before. The human was no stranger to pleasing himself, for he had not sought a lover before Legolas and could not imagine seeking another after experiencing such loving affection from his Woodland friend. However, the idea of finding release while thinking of the Wood-Elf, when Legolas may be dead or dying, fading in Mirkwood by the Ranger’s own fault, only caused the Adan’s stomach to clench in disgust.

He disregarded his mind, which betrayed the human by telling him, _Legolas is not here._

Aragorn shut his eyes tightly, letting no light into his vision. He stopped listening to the sounds of the waterfall, the forest, and of the merriment outside by the Noldor in the gardens below. _Legolas is here beside me in the bed. He was never harmed by the merchants. His father never beat him. He is here. He is well._

Comfort washed over him, his heart soothed at the counterfeit envisagement. _It is Legolas,_ he argued with himself, knowing very well that it was not the Elf’s smooth, gentle fingers that stroked him, but his own rough and callused digits.

Running his fingers along his shaft, the human sighed with pleasure, allowing his thoughts to turn back to his Greenleaf. The eagerness with which the Prince had prepared his own body while exacting from the human his atonement, the abandonment with which Legolas had ridden the Adan, and the rhythmic clenching of the laegel’s innermost muscles during his release – Aragorn changed his feather light stroke, fisting his hand around his manhood, pretending that the contact and sensation came from the Prince, not himself.

“Legolas,” he whispered aloud when the impulsive upsurge of passion broke, and then spilled over.

For a fleeting moment, Aragorn could truly believe that the Wood-Elf was well and with him, and for the first time in many weeks, the Ranger felt content. He lay panting and heaving, his hand sticky with his own seed and his body covered in a sheen of lustful sweat. He had found his completion but no relief, however, for soon the fantasy dissipated and he found that he lay by himself in the Wood-Elf’s bed once again.

_I am pitiable._

Feeling more alone than he had before, the Adan grabbed the pillow at his head and held it to his chest. After the many weeks the Prince had been gone, the pillow’s sham held the soft, clean scent of the Wood-Elf no longer, but Estel seized the cushion as if it were his Greenleaf. It was not orgasm that he had needed – it was Legolas – and no imagining or sexual release could substitute.

But he lay awake in the Wood-Elf’s bed far past the rise of the sun, convincing himself that it was his lover he held, that it was Legolas with whom he had found his pleasure, and that when he opened his still tightly shut eyes, it would be the fair Prince beside him in the bed.

Today he would avoid his brothers and father, for their own sadness and worries over not knowing of their friend exacerbated the welling despair within the Ranger. Today he would spend in the woods, amongst the trees, which were silent to him, though Legolas could have told him of what they sang. Today would be another day that he would try to convince himself that he would not see the Wood-Elf ever again.

The Ranger rolled to his side and let his arm fall out against the empty bed beside him, and was unsurprised that no warm body laid there.

_I will not wake beside him again._

For the first few nights of sleeping in the Prince’s chambers in Imladris, Aragorn had expected to find Legolas in the bed with him each morning when he had awoke. He did not know why he should have such expectations – he had woken beside the laegel few times in his life and most of those had been recently.

 _Stop,_ the Ranger told himself and sat upright in the bed. _He is not gone. He has not faded, and he will live much longer than I._ Pushing his unruly hair away from his face, the human swung his legs from off the bed and let his feet rest upon the cold carpet of the Prince’s chamber floor. _I will not mourn him._

No word had yet to come from Mirkwood, not from the King, Kalin, or Legolas himself, who had promised the twins to write. As time passed, it only portended that no word would ever come. _I would rather not know whether he lived or died than to hear that Legolas has passed._

He had the sudden urge to destroy the meticulous room in which he sat, to pull the curtains from the veranda doors. Aragorn desired to whitewash the mural of Greenwood the Great upon the wall, and to shatter the vases, to destroy all evidence of the Wood-Elf’s stay in Imladris, and to forget that he had ever met the Prince. The very thought pained him. More importantly, Legolas might see this room again, long after the Ranger was dead. The fleeting urge vanished, and with it left the final vestiges of the human’s contentment from his night of dreaming that his lover was with him.

 _I will not see Legolas again,_ the Ranger told himself, standing from the Wood-Elf’s bed. _Legolas would not wish for me to wallow in despair. I must move on._

Sage advice though it was, while the human slipped from Legolas’ room into his own to prepare for the coming day, he could not keep his thoughts away from his absent lover, and so turned to the task at hand. Wanderlust had captured the Ranger firmly within its grasp. He had made his plans for departure. Today he would leave, and he would go into the wilds where he would exist to no one, not even himself.


	61. Chapter 61

He had not yet had the chance to tell his father or brothers of his departure, and though he had planned to leave that morning, the interruption of an impromptu celebration of the good weather and the Noldor’s happiness over the verdure magnificence that decorated the Imladrian forests had kept the Ranger in Rivendell until the sun had already set. The gala was merely an excuse for the human to remain, however, for truly Aragorn had not wanted to attend but had not yet been able to convince himself to leave the valley.

 _They will understand,_ he thought, drawing on his pipe and watching the twins. _If I do not leave tonight, then I will only remain another day and another after that._

His brothers were wooing a pair of Elf-maidens, who appeared to be disinterested in the Noldorin twins. Looks were deceiving, however, and even Aragorn could tell that the two she-Elves were awed by the handsome, identical brothers. With each charming smile that Elladan and Elrohir gave their quarry, the Elleth to whom it was given would blush a little further. It was a game that Aragorn had watched the twins play many times, and neither Estel, the twins, nor the love struck Elf-maidens seemed to tire of it.

The Ranger drank from his mug of ale, a treat for him, since even in Imladris, which welcomed all peoples and cultures, ale was hard to come by. _Ada will worry, as will Elladan and Elrohir, but they will understand,_ he thought, rolling the amber liquor around his mouth to savor its taste. _They are accustomed to my traveling afar._

Estel would return in a few months. He dared not stay away too long, but he could not stay here any longer. Leaving Imladris without word of Legolas had proven to be a much harder task than his determination of that morning could handle, and his resolve had waned when another day had passed and he had yet to hear news from Mirkwood. No missive had been sent, no one had happened to travel to or from Greenwood the Great and thus none had carried rumor with them, and no messenger had arrived.

_Since no word comes from Eryn Galen, I will find out for myself._

Sitting in the shadowy corner of the hall, his chair pressed as far into the corner, and therefore as far away as possible from the dancing and merrymaking, Estel smoked his pipe and ignored the annoyed glares from the Elves around him, who did not care for the pipe-weed’s pungent smell. He planned his journey, thinking how fastest and safest he might make it to the Mirkwood border. By his reckoning, he only needed to travel as far into the forest as it would take him to find the first Wood-Elf he happened upon. After questioning said Elf, it would be unimportant whether the Silvan would take the Ranger to the King to serve his sentence in the dungeons, as had been promised should Estel return to Mirkwood, for he would know of Legolas, and this above all else was the only consequence important to the human.

When a servant ran through the spacious colonnade that stretched between the hall of fire and the adjoining gallery that led into the courtyard, the Ranger took notice, for the servant pushed his way immediately to the far end of the room and leapt step by step up to the dais upon which Lord Elrond and his esteemed guests were seated. The young Elfling spoke to the Lord of Imladris directly, his face urgent, even if his words were lost in the din.

At first, the elder Elf only nodded, impassive as he waited patiently for the Elfling to finish speaking. Once done, the Elfling stepped back. It was not a moment too soon, for the Peredhel was already standing and striding from the dais without a second glance at either the messenger or the guests at his table.

_Something is amiss._

The twins, too, had noticed their father’s urgent departure, for the Elf Lord had crossed close to them on his way out of the hall. Elladan looked to his twin, and each looked across the room to the Ranger, who shook his head to indicate that he was not sure of what was happening. Their curiosity besting them, after a few minutes the twins bid farewell to the two maidens with whom they had been flirting and hurried from the hall, following in the direction of Lord Elrond.

Briefly, the Ranger considered following his brothers and father. _Ada’s expertise in healing must be needed. Perhaps I could be of use._ He may very well have been of use to his father, but Aragorn remained seated, telling himself, _I would use any excuse to remain in Imladris another day. I need to leave tonight or I will not leave at all!_

The hall of fire was of no interest to him, his bags were already packed, and the Ranger decided, finally standing from his chair by the hearth, _There is no better time to leave than now. I will ready my horse, and then find Ada and the twins for my goodbyes._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Peredhel’s study was dark – the usual display of candles and oil lamps were not lit this eve, for the Elven Lord was in the hall of fire with his family and people.

 _And they say that the Wood-Elves are prone to revelry,_ the Prince thought, sitting in a chair before Elrond's desk and placing his cane on the floor beside him. _The Noldor are just as wont to throw a feast as any Silvan!_

In the vast, main room of the Last Homely House, the sounds of singing, laughing, and the clang of cutlery and cups could be heard. The servant who had led Legolas to the Elf Lord’s study had informed the Prince of the cause of the merriment, and the laegel imagined that his Silvan brethren in Eryn Galen were likely celebrating as well.

Spring was coming to its final fruition. The full blossom of the season was upon them, and though the emerald foliage and flowers would last several months more, the air was not yet heavy with the humidity of the summer. Tonight was the perfect time for festivity.

The Prince shifted in his seat. The chair, while comfortable, still felt hard to his travel weary body, and his thigh ached relentlessly. His sentries had been led away by a servant to the barracks, where they would stay happily amongst the Noldorin warriors. This had left Legolas to greet Lord Elrond alone, as had been the Prince’s wish.

 _I wonder if Estel is not already running to greet me,_ the Prince mused with a hopeful smile.

Although the travelers had passed the Noldorin guard along the outskirts of Imladris, and though countless servants had already greeted Legolas and his sentries, with the throngs of Noldor in attendance at the Last Homely House, Legolas had not encountered any of his second family or lover. The arrival of the Prince of Mirkwood in Imladris was a common occurrence, so no formal announcement would be made of his coming – this, too, pleased the Prince, because he wanted only to see his Minyatar, the twins, and his Ranger tonight. He could imagine greeting no one else in his sore and exhausted state.

The soft patter of rushing feet drew the Prince from his ponderings. He turned in his seat to face the door in anticipation that Aragorn would soon be there.

However, it was Lord Elrond who entered in a flustered commotion; the door banged against the wall when the usually restrained healer burst through it and the half-Elf left it wide open as he rushed to Legolas.

His Minyatar pulled the Wood-Elf from his seat before Legolas could begin to stand; the healer enveloped the young Elf within his fatherly embrace, crushing the shorter Prince to his chest as he exclaimed softly, “Greenleaf!”

Legolas smiled against the Imladrian’s tunic and took comfort from the elder’s loving hug, returning it just as fiercely. _My own father has never welcomed me so warmly,_ the Prince mused with a twinge of sorrow, but soon this thought was forgotten, for his Minyatar was fussing over the laegel’s health.

The Peredhel stepped back to inspect the Wood-Elf. “You are still too thin, and you are injured,” the healer noted, his hands lingering lightly, knowingly upon the laegel’s chest and bruised ribs before one flew to the fainter contusions on the Prince’s face.

The Elf Lord’s unexpected motion startled Legolas – he ducked away from Elrond’s hand without thinking, his reaction to avoid a blow coming involuntarily.

 _It is only Minyatar_ , he reminded himself with shame when he saw the surprise on his elder's kind visage.

The healer’s excitement dimmed; the pleased and relieved smile the Imladrian wore faded into a sympathetic frown. “I am sorry,” the Elven Lord whispered, clearing the space between Noldo and Wood-Elf as he spoke. Again, his Minyatar wrapped his arms around the laegel. He consoled, “I did not know your relationship with your father had deteriorated so far, Legolas.” Resting his dark head atop the Prince’s fair one, the healer sighed into the laegel’s hair. “I would have kept you here in Imladris had I known.”

The Elf Lord had not been cognizant of Thranduil and Thranduilion’s problems because Legolas had never told Elrond, though certainly the healer must have suspected something. The Prince had few friends who he held as close as the Elf Lord, his twin sons, and the Ranger. Such omissions the laegel would allow no longer, not any more, not if he wanted to heal here in Imladris.

“I am fine, my Lord,” the Prince assured while he rested his weight into the half-Elf’s paternal warmth. They stood for several long moments, the Silvan’s misery soothed by the elder, and the Noldo’s fear for the Prince’s safety soothed by the young one.

“Come with me, Greenleaf. You are exhausted, I can see. There will be no festivities for you this night, but you will not go to bed until I have checked your ribs,” the Elf Lord ordered of the Prince, finally releasing the Wood-Elf. “You favor your right side – are your ribs broken?”

Legolas nodded his concurrence, admitting without prevarication, “They are bruised, perhaps cracked, but they do not hurt as much as before. Kalin has seen that they remain wrapped.”

He bent to retrieve his cane, stifling the groan upon his lips for doing so. After the long period of traveling upon his horse and of not getting enough use of his leg to keep it limber, the Prince’s thigh ached more than usual.

The Peredhel merely glanced at the cane with another thoughtful frown before he walked before the Prince to lead the way. _He has already heard the story of what has happened in Greenwood,_ the laegel thought, his ignominy accentuated with the knowledge that Elrond was already aware of Legolas’ capitulation to the human merchant and of his hewing his own flesh with a dagger.

Once Legolas had passed through the doorway, Elrond threaded his arm through the young Elf’s and guided him down the hall. _Where are Estel and the twins?_ he wondered of the empty passage, but decided, _Surely, they have not been told that I am here; else, I would be fending off their questions already._

 _They do not care that you are here,_ the hateful voice said to him. _They do not come because they cannot be bothered to miss their revelry._

Legolas stumbled.

It was a minor misstep, one that he recovered from with pained ease, but the Elf Lord beside him noticed immediately. Stopping their walk to the apothecary, which was only a short distance down the hall from the half-Elf’s study, the Peredhel turned his incisive, determining gaze to the Prince.

For a moment, his Minyatar looked very much to the Prince as if he were listening to the recriminations of the insidious voice as well. It told Legolas of the healer’s surveying stare, _He pities you._

“Greenleaf?”

The Prince’s unfocused cogitations snapped back to the Elf Lord before him, and he answered at once, “Yes, my Lord?”

Inspecting the laegel once more, Elrond slipped his arm further through the Wood-Elf’s, his hand reaching out around the Prince’s waist to balance Legolas even more. “We will have much to speak of in the morning. I trust that your stay will be longer than the last?”

“Yes. I have promised my father to return by next spring, and if it pleases you, I would spend my time here in Imladris.”

The healer nodded, appeased by this answer, and then his arched eyebrow hung suspended in the air at his surprise. “Of course you are welcome in the Last Homely House, and always will you be so, Greenleaf.” Elrond stated as he opened the door to the room of herbs and other medicinal items, “That should be time enough for your leg to heal properly. I am surprised that the King has granted you such a leave, but this, too, we shall talk of tomorrow.”

Leading the Wood-Elf by his arm to the bench located in the small room, the Elf Lord lit an oil lamp on the long table. The room, the lighting, and even the ageless Noldo in front of him were eerily similar to the events of shortly over two months ago, when Legolas had sat before the healer, shown him the marks upon his body, and told of his subjugation by the merchants.

 _At least I will be spared telling him the story this night,_ the laegel thought again with a tired yawn. _I do not think I could stay awake long enough._

Sitting beside the laegel, his Minyatar asked, “Remove your tunic, Greenleaf, so that I may check your ribs.”

Although he did as he was asked, Legolas did so slowly, as if the extra time it took him to remove his tunic would allow the bruises more time to fade. They were not faded, however, but still vibrant and sinister against his pale skin. From the Elf Lord’s darkening face, it was apparent that Elrond knew from where the bruises upon the Prince had come, but he said nothing as he checked each one, satisfying himself that the laegel’s ribs were not broken.

“Keep them wrapped and they will be fine,” the healer said. Taking the Prince’s tunic in hand, he returned it to Legolas and added, “And no strenuous activity or using your bow.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the dutiful patient acquiesced with a relieved sigh.

Without asking the Prince to remove his leggings, much to the laegel’s added relief, the healer began to check the wound upon the Silvan’s thigh with gentle palpations. A vague tingling ran through the Silvan’s flesh – Legolas knew that his Minyatar was employing vilya upon his wounded thigh. The Peredhel did not heal him outright, though he could have, but only eased the pain there. In Imladris, with vilya’s facilitation, the Prince’s wounds would heal much more quickly than in Mirkwood, he knew. However, Legolas knew that his Minyatar did not overuse vilya as if it were some cheap parlor trick. Elrond would not heal the Prince’s thigh completely, though the laegel believed that the Peredhel would likely aid its healing over time. Already, the massage of his aching muscles and vilya’s warm magic loosened the tight throbbing that resided there, and Legolas relaxed at the attention.

“The muscle is healing, ion nin, even if it aches. The harm is not irreparable, but it may take time before you are able to use this leg as you would have before,” the healer told his patient as he prodded his fingers against the laegel’s marred flesh. The healer made no mention of the intolerable voice, of which the Imladrian seemed to know still existed, nor did the voice erupt into Legolas’ consciousness.

Smiling, the Prince nodded eagerly at the import of his Minyatar’s words, for the fear that he would forever be walking with a cane was now mitigated. _It is well that I will be fine to walk without this cane; else, Elladan and Elrohir would have been forced to tote me into the trees over the next year. The twins would likely toss me into the river before helping me into a tree._

Again, the laegel could hear footsteps, and then heard the sound of Elladan arguing with his brother, which led the Prince to smile widely with joy. _That will be them._

The Peredhel, too, had heard his twin sons, for he smiled at Legolas and told him, “I will see to it that they do not hound you with questions tonight.”

No sooner had the Elf Lord finished speaking than the arguing voices grew closer, and from the other side of the thick, elaborately carved apothecary door, Legolas heard Elladan tell his brother, “I think Father is here. I heard him.”

“Ada,” one twin asked before he had even entered the apothecary, not having bothered to knock. “What has happened? Is someone injured?” he queried as he pushed open the door.

It was Elladan who entered first. He delayed on the doorsill upon seeing Legolas sitting beside his Adar on the bench in the small room. Suddenly, the elder twin, whose jaw hung open in surprise, was pushed from the way and into the room by Elrohir. Elladan stumbled forward and caught himself on the long table running the length of the area. The younger twin opened his mouth to argue, but it hung open just as his brother’s did at seeing the Wood-Elf, and the two twins stood with gaped jaws, staring at Legolas.

Cheerfully, the Prince laughed at the twins’ comical surprise. “No one is injured,” he answered them, amending with a brief glance to his Minyatar, “at least not seriously. Although there are two Noldor who may find that the birds have nested on their tongues if they do not soon close their mouths.”

Together the twins moved as a single force. They strode across the room to stand before Legolas, and were now grinning with joy to find their friend alive and presumably well in Imladris. Elrond stood to cross the room himself, leaving the twins to greet the laegel without being in the bustling brothers’ way.

Elladan and Elrohir’s exuberance to see the laegel induced the Wood-Elf to reach out to the nearest twin, who happened to be Elrohir. Grabbing the younger Noldo by the arm while holding his hand out for the elder twin, Legolas pulled Elrohir to him. His other arm was soon wrapped around Elladan, and together the three huddled together in a mishmash of fond arms pressing them together.

He had known these two Noldor from the time they could all barely walk, and though their parting had been short, Legolas had not realized how much he had missed these two Elves whom he considered brothers.

“See, Elladan. I told you that we would find Ada in his study,” the younger twin chastised his elder. “And we have found Legolas, also!”

“We did not find Ada in his study, Elrohir. We are in the apothecary, you twit,” Elladan rebuked in return, and from where he was still sandwiched between them, their happily arguing voices carried over Legolas’ head.

When the twins finally released the Wood-Elf, they were pushed askew by Elrond, who stepped between his two sons to stand before Legolas again. Even with the light at his back, the Elf Lord’s darkened features still shone with the intensity of his elation to see the Prince. “You will smother him, my sons,” the Imladrian leader scolded without true anger.

The Noldorin brothers sat on either side of the laegel and then assailed him with questions. Elladan began, “What of the scar, Legolas? What of your father? How did you convince him –”

“– to let you leave, Legolas? Does he even know you are here? What of your grief, Greenleaf?” Elrohir finished.

They held to his forearms, and he looked from twin to twin to find the same loving, worried, and sympathetic smiles that they had always shown him. Two more of his family had welcomed him home, and the laegel’s mood was buoyed by this.

“My sons,” the Elf Lord interrupted before more questions could be asked. He walked to the opposite side of the room and replaced the linen and other items he had earlier taken from the many drawers of the cabinets in the apothecary, but stopped in his task to tell his twins, “Legolas is exhausted. Your questions can wait until tomorrow.”

Although disappointed that their boundless curiosity would not be appeased, the twins nodded dutifully to their father, and both then returned their smiles to Legolas, showing no dissatisfaction in the least to have their Wood-Elf friend with them, even should they not know how he came to Imladris.

One of their questions he would answer; Legolas knew that the twins would be glad to hear of his recovery in this matter. He told them, “The grief has abated, friends, as has the numbness.” He did not need to remind them of what he spoke – it was the twins who had explained his condition to Kalin and Ninan.

Elrohir gripped the laegel’s forearm roughly in his enthusiasm, exclaiming, “That is good news, indeed, Legolas!”

“We feared the worst for you,” the elder twin told Legolas and rubbed his hand across the Wood-Elf's back, chafing the painful bruising there unintentionally. The contact was welcomed and he did not wish the twins to mother him by asking of his bruises, so he did not mention the ache their touches brought.

“I am sorry that I did not write you, my friends. I decided to travel to Imladris to tell you how I fared instead,” he explained. Legolas hoped that his friends would not be cross with him about this; surely, he had worried them by keeping them waiting for his promised missive.

However, the twins were too happy over the Prince’s appearance to mind the laegel’s oversight in writing, for Elladan shook his head and told the laegel, “We do not mind, Greenleaf! You are here now, you are well, and that is all that matters!”

Anxiously, the laegel thought of Estel, and why the Ranger was not with his brothers in greeting him. Not caring if he sounded overeager to know of the human’s whereabouts, the laegel asked, “Where is Estel?”

Each twin turned to his other half, and Elladan explained, “Last I saw him he was in the hall of fire. He does not know you here, brother Wood-Elf –”

“– because we did not know until we walked into the apothecary,” Elladan ended.

“Why do you not go tell him, my sons,” Lord Elrond instructed with a grin, as amused as Legolas by the twins’ excited banter, and as happy as they that the laegel was in Imladris. He replaced his final item and came to stand beside the twins once more. “Tell Estel we will meet him in the Prince’s chambers.”

Elladan grabbed his brother’s arm, their mischievous smiles identical as they realized in unison what enjoyment this task would bring, though it was the elder twin who said aloud, “Imagine Estel’s surprise.”

“I cannot wait to see his face when we tell him,” Elrohir agreed as he was being pulled by his brother from his seat and out of the room. “We will see you in your chambers in just a moment!”

Once the twins had left, their mirth still resounding through the hall outside, the Peredhel laughed, saying, “They should have seen their own faces when realizing it was you to whom I was talking.” The Elf Lord shook his head and helped Legolas to stand. “Often I wonder how Estel has managed to survive this long as brother to my twin sons.” Holding his hand out to the laegel, the healer prompted, “But come, let us go to your chambers, Greenleaf, so that Estel will not be forced to hunt for us.”

He took his Minyatar’s hand and rose from the bench, his thigh moving stiffly and his gait uncertain as he walked from the apothecary. Again, the Elf Lord looped his arm through the Wood-Elf’s, balancing Legolas while he hobbled down the hallway.

Moonlight, full and silvern against the ancient stone from which the Last Homely House was constructed, filtered from the windows and vents along the hallway. Legolas had walked this path many times, whether from visiting Lord Elrond’s study, or being called there with the twins for reckoning from some childhood prank they had played. The passage appeared much different to the Wood-Elf tonight. His second family's home had always been a haven for Legolas, a place for comfort and recovery, and one of friendship.

He had forsaken his father and King’s demands of him, had battled his grief and sorrow to be here, and yet, it was not the Last Homely House that offered him refuge, but those inside of it.

The Peredhel patted the laegel’s hand where it gripped his arm. “Estel will be ecstatic to see you, Greenleaf,” the Imladrian promised.

 _I only hope that is true,_ he told himself, letting Elrond open the door to his chambers for them to enter.

Inside the Prince’s chambers and sitting upon the laegel’s bed was Kalin, who jumped up at the sudden, noble presence of the half-Elf. He bowed low to the Imladrian healer, giving his welcome, “My Lord Elrond.”

“Kalin,” the Elven Lord said congenially. “How do you fare, young one? It is good to see you once again.”

That the Imladrian healer had first asked Kalin of his health did not pass by without the Prince or his sentry’s notice, and they shared a smile between them at Lord Elrond’s paternal concern for the sentry.

“I am feeling fine, my Lord,” the sentry replied, bowing low again when the Peredhel and Legolas approached the bed where Kalin had been waiting. “I thought to make certain that my Prince was well, but I should not have worried. He is always in good hands in Imladris.”

The sentry was accustomed to caring for his Prince at nighttime in seeing that the Wood-Elf’s thigh was tended and that he ate – tonight, however, Lord Elrond would see to his Prince’s welfare. Legolas told his sentry, “I am in good hands, indeed, Kalin. Why do you not enjoy the celebration in the hall of fire?”

“If you have no need for me, my Prince,” the sentry said as he walked to the door, “then perhaps I shall.”

“Thank you, Kalin,” the Prince told his sentry and sat upon the bed, alluding with his gratitude to much more than Kalin’s offer of aid.

“Always, my Prince. Goodnight, Legolas, Lord Elrond,” he said, bowing a final time to the two Elves before he turned to leave. Kalin smiled at Legolas as he left the room, winking at the laegel in unspoken reminder of his words from the night before.

 _He was right,_ the Prince thought of his sentry. _Minyatar and the twins have welcomed me warmly. I was silly to doubt them._

The Peredhel helped him from his tunic once again, though this time he replaced it with a soft, clean shirt of fine cotton that hung loose along Legolas' form, its fabric so long that it stretched past the Prince’s knees. The healer cared for the Wood-Elf as if he was a child, but Legolas did not find it uncomfortable. Truly, the Prince felt wonderful as the elder Elf helped him remove his boots, listening to Lord Elrond instruct him in how best to care for his ribs, speaking to him as if he were one of his other sons.

There was one yet to welcome him, and Legolas could not help but to muse of the Ranger’s whereabouts and ponder whether he would receive a warm welcome from Aragorn, as well.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I cannot move on without knowing that he is healthy. I have to know that he is hale, that he lives,” he spoke to his horse. The mare sidled closer to him, and with her nose, nudged at the bag of oats he had placed upon the floor just a moment before.

Estel took the mare’s soft snorting as conformity to his plans. “I thought you would agree,” the Ranger told her as he tightened the straps of his saddle. “But Ada and the twins will not.”

She bumped the bag of oats on the floor harder in an attempt to scatter its contents onto the hay-covered ground, while Aragorn grabbed some of his traveling chattel and tied it to his saddle, saying, “They will not want us to go to Mirkwood, but I must have word of Legolas.”

A sudden snorting sound from the stall next to the one in which he stood made the Ranger smile. “Someone else agrees that we should travel to the great forest,” he told his mare of the nearby, agitated horse.

Aragorn picked up the bag of oats before the mare could manage to spill them with her questing nose, and instead handed her the early apple he had procured from the festival. She broke the fruit apart with her powerful teeth and grunted her thanks, while the tart odor of the delicious treat filled the warm air of the stable.

As he looped the strap of one of his satchels over his shoulder, a snort of hot air hit the Ranger in the back of his neck, startling him. “It is my only apple,” he told the horse in the stall next to his mare’s, not bothering to see whose horse it may be that begged for a treat, too. “And I am in a hurry to see Legolas, else I would fetch you one from the stores.”

His excuse earned him a disdainful neigh from the intruding horse. The Ranger stopped in his preparations. He knew the sound of that condescending nicker.

It was not the apple that the stallion was after. Only one horse the human had ever known of would react to his master’s name in such a way, and already, twice the Ranger had said his lover’s name, only to receive some response from the mount.

Estel spoke the laegel’s name again, testing to see if he would elicit the same reaction from the horse in the stall next door another time. “Legolas.”

Again, an annoyed snort came from behind him, and finally, the human turned around to view for himself the identity of the bickering mount. His long neck stretched so that he could place his head over the short wall between the stalls, a dappled grey stallion stared at the Ranger with his obsidian eyes and tossed his head in greeting. Reaching out, he stroked the stallion’s mane absently, his mind slow in registering the import of finding the Prince’s horse in the Imladrian stables. He spoke quietly the piebald mount’s name, the simple nomenclature rolling from his tongue in pleased surprise, “Arato.”

The steed rolled his eyes in exasperation, as if annoyed at the human for not greeting him earlier, which caused Aragorn to laugh at the typical response from the laegel’s stallion. “You are just as flippant as Legolas,” he told the horse, and at the mention of his master’s name, Arato again jerked his head and stamped his foot. “You miss him,” the Ranger said, caressing the stallion’s sensitive nose. “I miss him as well…”

He felt the beginning of revelation upon hearing his own statement to Arato, and thought, _Why would Arato miss Legolas? Arato was in Mirkwood with Greenleaf._ Nevertheless, the stallion was clearly not in Eryn Galen with his master – Arato was here in the valley.

The bag of oats he held in hand fell to the straw covered stable floor. The Ranger ceased breathing, his body slackening.

_If Arato is here, Legolas must be here._

Without another thought to leaving, for his impetus to travel was now possibly within his easy reach, Aragorn sped from the stables, leaving his mare to eat from the bag of oats he had left on the ground.

 _Is this why Ada left the hall?_ The haste with which his father had fled the gala earlier fomented the Ranger’s worries. _Is Legolas injured?_

The festivities had long since lacked the cohesion of ceremony to keep the Noldor and guests within the confines of the hall of fire, where they had eaten and listened to the bards. Now the revelers were roaming the grounds and gardens, pairing off with their loved ones and friends to enjoy smaller, more intimate gatherings. Aragorn pushed through several such pairs, for the throngs of Elves were thick in the courtyard, and he could not run to the house quickly enough to suit his need to find the Prince.

“Estel!”

The Ranger halted at once upon recognizing his brother’s voice. Unable to find the twin amidst the Noldor surrounding him, it wasn’t until a hand found his elbow that the human saw Elrohir, and then Elladan, who was just behind his brother in their path towards the Ranger.

“Estel,” Elrohir said again, yanking the man by the arm out of the crowd and towards the side of the courtyard.

He followed without question, believing that the twins, who had followed their Ada when he had left the hall of fire, would know of Legolas’ whereabouts. _Greenleaf could be hurt._

“What is wrong?” the elder twin asked of the panicked human once they were out of the way of the moving crowd. Elladan eyed his brother’s clothing and then the stables behind him with suspicious puzzlement. “Where do you go?”

The Ranger looked to his own garments and the satchel of belongings he still had strapped over his shoulder, and then to his brothers’ confused, matching frowns. “Nowhere. At least, not any longer,” he told them in a daze. Pointing over his shoulder to the stables in the distance behind him, Aragorn questioned, “Legolas? Arato is here.”

The twins grimaced at him, and immediately the Ranger’s mind turned to the multitude of possibilities that this could mean. _He could be fading even now,_ the human wondered in horrified bewilderment.

But the twin’s disappointment turned to smiles. Elrohir snickered at the human’s fragmented speech and told his twin, “Even if we did not get to tell him, at least we were still able to see his face.”

Elladan joined in his twin’s hilarity with a similar show of amusement. He was moved by his human brother’s increased mystification, however, and told Aragorn excitedly, “Legolas is here, brother! He is with Ada in his chambers, waiting for you to come see him.”

Stepping towards them, Aragorn asked his brothers, his fear plain in his frantic speech, “He is well?”

“Yes, Estel,” the younger Noldo agreed with a joyous smile for his human brother, for he understood Aragorn’s fear for Greenleaf’s well-being and his guilt for his own part in Legolas’ suffering. “He is tired, but he is here, and he is as well as can be expected.”

The twin needed to say no more; Estel began trotting across the courtyard and up the stairs, pushing through Elves with less care than before, and leaving his brothers behind. _Legolas is here,_ the Ranger told himself, and was certain that his mind was playing tricks on him, but not even the twins would be so cruel in their pranks, and so he had to believe that his lover was in Imladris. Moreover, he _wanted_ to believe that the Wood-Elf was free of his father and had come to the valley to see the Ranger.

As the human rounded the hallway into the family’s wing of chambers, he slowed into a walk to regain his breath. The twins had caught up to him easily long before this point, but they followed behind him, allowing the Ranger to make his way into the laegel’s chambers first. Out of habit, he knocked upon the door and pressed his ear against the portal so that he would not miss hearing the call to come within the Prince’s room.

The call soon came from within from his Ada and Estel flung open the door.

The Elf stood when he saw Aragorn enter. With a long nightshirt on, his hair unbound from its normal braids, and his leggings removed, the Wood-Elf’s beauty kept the Ranger spellbound for a moment, as did the laegel’s sheer, unexpected presence. However, soon the Ranger crossed the chambers in long strides, his mind not able to digest that the lover who he had dreamt was with him the night previous now stood before him.

With the hint of a smile curling his florid lips, the laegel spoke quietly, “Estel.”

It took only a moment for the Ranger to notice the fading bruises that marred the Elf’s fair visage. On his left side, one such discoloration seemed to cover the entirety of Legolas’ cheek; the yellowish tinge surrounding the darker blue where the bruise had lain showed that the mark had once been substantial.

 _Someone has beaten him badly._ Aragorn was certain of just who had done this, and his anger towards the Elven King of Eryn Galen rekindled.

Aragorn raised his hand to touch the Wood-Elf’s face, to feel for himself that his beautiful lover truly stood before him. His hand neared Legolas’ cheek, but with a minute flinch of his head, the laegel moved away from the intended contact. Swiftly, the Ranger pulled his hand back to his side – the Prince grabbed the limb. Holding the human’s hand within his own, the Wood-Elf brought it back to his bruised cheek and held it there, cupping the Ranger’s calloused fingers against his discolored skin and giving the man a blithe smile.

The Elf’s stoicism lasted briefly, ere it then crumpled – Legolas’ eyes closed, his brows furrowed, and his head dropped, even as he pressed the Ranger’s palm more forcefully against his cheek.

The flash of misery upon the Wood-Elf’s bruised countenance broke the Ranger’s surprised hesitance to touch his Greenleaf, and he stepped forward, moving into the Silvan in hopes of easing his lover’s sorrow. Burying his face into the soft, long hair at the Elf’s shoulder, he pressed his lips against the fragrant skin of the Elf’s neck and wrapped his arms around his lover.

“Legolas,” he whispered into the Elf’s ear.

He did not notice the Elf Lord and twins who watched the Wood-Elf and he openly, smiling at the pair and each other with happiness to see the two lovers reunited.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Placing his hand upon the Wood-Elf’s upper arm, his Minyatar told the Prince, “Goodnight, Greenleaf. Find me should you have need, else I will see you in the morning.”

The elder’s interruption caused Legolas to withdraw from his lover’s embrace, and he nodded to his Minyatar, unexpectedly embarrassed to be so distraught in front of the twins and their Ada, while knowing that he should not be so.

Elladan came to hug the Prince and Elrohir followed suit. Together the two Noldor wrapped Legolas in their arms, pressing him between them as the elder twin bid the Prince goodnight, as well, saying, “We will leave you and Estel alone, Greenleaf. I am certain that you two have much catching up to do.”

Smiling meaningfully at the Ranger, then Legolas, and then at each other, the twins made their way to the exit. “We will see you tomorrow, as well,” the younger twin said to their human brother before both twins stepped from the laegel’s chambers and into the hall, shutting the door behind them to leave Elf and Ranger alone.

Aragorn dropped down heavily upon the settee, his gaze lingering on the laegel and showing no less shock to find Legolas in Imladris than when first he had walked into the room to see the Wood-Elf. The Silvan sat on the edge of his bed, facing the human. The Adan’s intense inspection was too much for the Prince, and he dropped his head, his hair falling around his face to hide the bruises there and shield the momentary sorrow that whelmed him.

There was so much to say between the two that neither knew where to start, it seemed. Legolas, afraid to break the silence lest it turn into an inquisition about why he was in Imladris, did not meet the Ranger’s gaze again. The Wood-Elf had seen the satchel that the Ranger carried with him into the room – it was a sack that the human carried his personal possessions in while in the wilds.

 _He was leaving,_ Legolas thought. _Did he choose to stay for me? Where did he intend to go? Will he leave even now?_

The hateful voice spoke to him, adding to Legolas’ anxiety with its lies as it said, _He does not want you. Estel will not forgive you for bedding the merchant. He pities you – that is why he stays._

Legolas kept his head down, his shoulders drawing in upon themselves as his attention turned inward, and he listened to the recriminatory voice.

_You are the whore that your father claims you to be. Estel deserves better than to remain with someone whose mind is daft and whose body is soiled._

But then, the Ranger was suddenly there, kneeling in front of the bed before Legolas. The Prince raised his head.

“Legolas,” the Ranger sighed. He pushed between the laegel’s knees so that he could stoop between them, and then wrapped his arms around the Wood-Elf’s waist, his face buried against Legolas’ abdomen. “I thought never to see you again. Only last night I dreamt you were here, and you sit before me now. I fear I am dreaming.”

Aragorn’s embrace hurt the Prince’s wounded torso, but he did not complain. Instead, Legolas rested his arms on the human’s shoulders and sifted his fingers through the Adan’s long, dark, and unruly curls.

The Ranger wanted him. Estel was overjoyed to see him. The human had dreamt for the Wood-Elf’s return.

He was not sure where he stood with the Ranger. Legolas did not know of what had transpired during their time apart. The human would always be the Prince’s friend, of this Legolas was certain, but if the Ranger would ever desire him as his lover, after all that the Wood-Elf had done and allowed to be done, the Prince could not say.

“What happened, Legolas? How have you managed to leave Mirkwood?” the human questioned and released the Prince so that he could sit on his heels and thus survey the laegel up close.

“Tomorrow, Estel, please.” Legolas reached out to smooth the hair he had only just mussed upon the Ranger’s head. “I promise we will speak of this tomorrow. I have no strength for quarrel or storytelling tonight.”

The Ranger stood and nodded his understanding and acceptance, but the man looked unsurely at the door. “You need your rest.”

Upon seeing the human’s indecision whether he should stay or go, Legolas asked, not caring if the voice were right, and the human only pitying him, “Will you stay with me tonight, Estel?” Legolas was tired; he was tired of his loathing’s utterances, as well, and knew that the Ranger’s touch would silence them.

Aragorn did not answer but smiled down at the Wood-Elf with apparent relief. Pushing the Prince to his side, the Ranger prompted the Elf into lying on his back upon the bed, which an exhausted Legolas did gladly. He rested his sleepy head upon the pillow, as weary of his vociferous loathing as he was of trying to remain awake. He heard the Ranger moving about the room, but with his eyes staring at the ceiling, Legolas merely listened to the human as Aragorn opened the balcony doors to allow in the fresh spring air from outside. When done, the soft sounds of the Ranger removing his boots, cloak, and tunic came to the Wood-Elf, and he waited with anticipation for his lover to be near again. The light from the oil lamps was extinguished such that only thin moonlight illumined the dark room.

Aragorn crawled upon the bed and lay facing the Wood-Elf. Legolas rolled to his side so that he could watch the human. The expanse of mattress between the Elf and Ranger might well have been as long as the trek between Mirkwood and Rivendell, so wide did it seem to the Prince. Although he longed to move, to feel the Ranger’s sturdy form against his own, and to take comfort from the human’s touch, the Prince resisted.

Catching the piquant, familiar smell of the Ranger upon the bedclothes, the Elf sniffed the cushion under his head and then asked with a timid grin, “Did you borrow my pillow? It smells of you.”

“Are you implying that I stink?” the Ranger teased back automatically, his hand reaching out to poke the Wood-Elf lightly in his arm.

Suddenly, the discomfited ambiguity between the two was broken, and the Ranger laughed while the Prince smiled with pleasure at the endearing sound.

“I have spent every night here in your rooms,” the human finally admitted to the Prince’s question, his mood now somber. “I have dreamt of seeing you again every night since leaving Eryn Galen.”

“I am here now.” Scooting closer to the human, the laegel curled into Aragorn’s extended body; the Ranger responded by enfolding himself around the Wood-Elf, and together the two lay with the Prince’s head bowed into the human’s chest, their arms entwined, and their thoughts only for each other.

The Ranger pressed a kiss to the top of the Elf’s head, and then again, before he tilted the Prince’s face upwards with his fingers under the Elf's chin and began to pepper slowly the laegel’s bruised visage with more light busses. He worked his way over Legolas’ face, his lips lighting upon the Prince’s pointed ears and then his cheeks in humble adulation, until he pressed his forehead to Legolas’ brow to ask, “You are no dream? You will be here come morning?”

Legolas breathed in the scent of pipe-weed and ale, two aromas that by themselves the laegel would not have enjoyed, but on the human, the scents were ambrosian, and he laid his own lips against the Ranger’s neck to taste the smoky, salty flavor there.

“I will,” the Elf promised the Adan. Despite his hesitance that the human would no longer desire him, Legolas caught the man’s mouth with his own. He sought nothing more than to feel the human, and it seemed that the Ranger understood this, for he allowed the Elf to catch his lip between the Prince’s own, tugging at it in undemanding exploration, only to release it and hide his face against the Ranger’s chest once more.

The healer exhaled slowly in contentment and tucked the Elf’s head under his chin, placing his hand upon the nape of the laegel’s neck to hold the Prince against him.

“Legolas,” the Ranger sighed into the Elf’s hair. For the first time since Aragorn had left Mirkwood, the Prince felt lucid and at ease.

The voice was silent. It said nothing to him as the Adan held him. He could not use Estel to cast aside his problems as he had before, and so the Prince promised himself before he closed his eyes again and pressed his face against the human’s collarbone, _Tomorrow. I will find the strength to resist this temptation tomorrow._

They lay like that for a few moments, each watching the other in the pale light, each ephemeral to the other, a vision that both had longed for, but one that neither had held much hope to see. The Elf’s exhaustion soon caused him to fall into reverie; he left the Ranger to watch over him, for Estel was afraid that should he sleep, he would wake to find the Elf absent once again.


	62. Chapter 62

_I wonder how long he will stay,_ the Ranger mused, lifting the hand he had rested upon the Elf’s waist to sweep away the long hair upon the Prince’s pillow. He did now want to lie on the laegel’s aureate tresses when he placed his dark head closer to the Wood-Elf’s fair one. _I will not let him leave me again, not if he will go back to his father._

Each time the Prince moved, the Ranger moved with him. In his deep sleep, with his eyes closed and his breathing low, the laegel turned to his side away from Aragorn. Lingering only a moment for the Wood-Elf to find a comfortable position, Estel shifted on the bed to be nearer to the Elf. He pressed his chest against Legolas’ torso, his knees bent behind the Prince’s angled legs, and his head close to the Elf’s neck, such that the front of his body lay flush with the back of the laegel’s body. So profound was his slumber that the Prince did not even wake at the agitation of the Ranger’s constant, restless transition – movement designed to keep the human’s body aligned with the Elf’s own.

They lay on top of the blankets; the covers were not needed in such weather, and already Aragorn was hot from the rising temperature of the dawning day and the warmth of the Wood-Elf’s body. With no blanket to hide the laegel’s bared legs, the contusions upon his Greenleaf’s pale limbs were exposed in the ochre light of the rising sun, the etiolated skin of the Elf’s calves evinced that there were likely more bruises farther up the Elf’s legs. Although Aragorn longed to look, to see the damage done to his lover, he feared to wake the sleeping laegel, who truly needed rest.

He had many questions for the Wood-Elf, none of which he could ask now, but ones that he could not seem to stop asking himself. Aragorn lay awake, waiting for the imminent wakening of the Prince so that some explanation could be given.

_King Thranduil would not have let him leave. Does the King even know that Legolas is here? What circumstance has led to Legolas coming to Imladris so beaten? Was he forced to flee from his father’s violence?_

Insinuating his arm around the Prince’s chest so that he could feel with his hand the Elf’s heartbeat, the Ranger removed his arm abruptly when the Elf groaned in his sleep and arched his back away without rousing from his reverie. Without knowing it, Aragorn had laid his arm across the Prince’s cracked and sore ribs.

 _Even here, there must be bruises,_ he thought as he replaced his hand at the Elf’s waist, and then realized, _Legolas could be wounded seriously and not have told me._

But the Peredhel had been with the laegel when Aragorn had entered the room the night before, and the Ranger knew that the Elven healer would not have allowed Legolas to suffer needlessly. This did not mean that the Prince was not in pain, or injured, even if not so seriously that Elrond would have required the Prince to be watched over by the healers, or that his Ada would have at least been certain to inform Estel of the Prince’s injuries so that he could care for the laegel during the night.

 _I should not tempt fate. I do not wish to wake him,_ he told himself, but found this argument unconvincing. Estel extricated himself from lying against the Elf and rose into sitting upon the bed. The laegel slept deeply and had not wakened thus far. _If I am careful, perchance he will sleep through it._

Lifting the hem of the laegel’s nightshirt, Estel watched the Prince’s face for signs that the Elf was waking – he did not wish to be caught as some voyeur lusting after the nude Elf, for lust was the farthest thing from the Ranger’s mind. When Legolas showed no response to Aragorn’s handling, the human continued, pulling up the end of the long shirt as far as he could until the hem was caught under the laegel’s leg and could be moved no more.

His exploration revealed that the Elf’s injuries extended to his thighs and hips. The Elf’s lower belly held the same contusions. The shadowy marks upon the Prince’s pale hide were darker here, the discolorations more numerous. Clean linen bound the Prince’s upper torso, hiding some of the damage inflicted there.

 _Thranduil has been thorough in his abuse._ The Ranger sighed, his eyes burning with the threat of tears to see his lover so beaten. _Legolas is no longer in his father’s halls,_ he told himself, switching his position upon the bed so that he could see more clearly the front of the laegel’s thigh. _Legolas will endure his father’s wrath no more. I will make certain of it this time. With my life if necessary._

The inscription of sorrow and suffering upon the Elf’s body – the scar – was not a single disquisition of the laegel’s despair any longer. To the Ranger, the flesh of Legolas’ thigh appeared shattered, and the image of the leaf colored bauble, the marble the human had dropped upon his Ada’s study floor months ago while waiting for the Elf Lord to appear, came to his mind. The splintered flesh of Legolas’ thigh could well have been the marble, as fractured as the laegel’s skin seemed. It would take centuries for the Elf’s scars to fade – if they faded at all.

 _Ada promised me then that he would pick up the pieces,_ the Ranger thought of the marble, and of the Elf Lord’s reference to Legolas, as he smoothed the sleeping shirt back over his lover’s form, _but Ada never had the chance to do it._ Checking the laegel’s face once more to be certain that Legolas was not waking, Aragorn lay back down upon the bed but propped his head up on one hand. The Elf did not need for someone to sweep up the shards of his wrecked life, however; the Prince needed to mend these fragments, and it would not be Elrond, or Aragorn, to do this.

The sleeping shirt had a loose collar, for its laces had been neither threaded nor tied, and Aragorn took advantage of this by sliding the cloth around until he could bare the Prince’s upper back. Between the Elf’s shoulder blades and amidst several fading contusions laid two darker bruises, both of them crescent shaped, as if made in the same way.

 _Thranduil could have killed him,_ the Ranger decided and recovered the Elf’s back with his sleeping tunic. _It is likely that the King_ tried _to kill Greenleaf._ He shifted so that his head lay behind the laegel’s neck upon the pillow once more, his nose shrouded in Legolas’ hair. _How many times has Greenleaf endured his father’s violence while I have not been there?_

This momentary reprieve would not last; of this, the human was certain. That the Elf had even allowed Aragorn to touch him after what the Ranger’s touch had caused when last the Wood-Elf and he had been together, the human could not understand. However, Legolas had asked the Ranger to stay with him the night, despite Aragorn’s fear that the laegel would not want him near, and had not eschewed the Adan’s affection thus far.

He inhaled the scent of the Elf’s hair, which even after weeks of travel where the Prince had not had a proper bath, still smelled as fine as any perfume. _I could have left yesterday morning as I had intended and might not even know that Legolas had come._ Gripping lightly the cloth at the Prince’s waist, Aragorn stuck his nose deeper into the laegel’s blond, lustrous tresses, wishing he could be closer to the Elf, if such a thing were possible, as he was already pushed so snugly to Legolas that his every muscle was taut in keeping the awkward position maintaining such closeness required.

Thoughts of his canceled departure led to thoughts of his learning from Arato of Legolas’ arrival the night before, until Aragorn had a sudden realization. _Sweet Eru._ The Adan reprimanded himself, _You idiot, you have left your horse saddled in the stables all night._

It would not be the first time he had done such a thing. In the wild one should always be on guard, and between riding for days on end with little reprieve and wanting to be able to ride on a moment’s notice, his mare and the other horses he had kept before her were all accustomed to hardship. However, there was no excuse for leaving her like this without cause.

Moaning softly into the laegel’s hair in frustration, the Ranger then rose unwillingly from lying upon the bed. _She and Arato have likely plotted some plan for revenge. Perhaps I should stop by the kitchens and get them both an apple._

Sliding from the bed while keeping his gaze upon the sleeping laegel all the while to ensure that the Prince did not awaken, Aragorn stood from the bed. He gazed down upon his adored Silvan, wishing that he could crawl back onto the mattress, instead, because he did not want to be parted from the Prince even the short time it would take him to tend his mare.

_It will only take a moment, and if I am quiet, he will not even know that I have left._

As silently as he could, the Ranger found his tunic and tugged it on quickly. As he sat upon the couch to put on his boots, his weight sent the settee scraping across the floor, and therefore emitted a loud squeak as its wooden legs rubbed along the stone floor.

 _So much for being quiet,_ he berated himself.

Legolas’ voice drew the human’s attention to the bed, and its disused, scratchy timbre made the Ranger smile at the sleepy sound of the Elf asking, “Where do you go?”

“To the stables,” the Ranger explained succinctly, hoping that Legolas would not ask him to clarify. Aragorn did not want to tell the Wood-Elf that he had planned to leave Imladris last night, and very well would have left had not the Prince arrived, but nor could he lie to the laegel. He did not want to concern his lover; the Elf had enough about which to worry.

Shaking his head as he rose into sitting, the Elf grimaced in pain, a sight that made Aragorn move forward instinctively to help the Prince. He stood but stopped his advance when Legolas asked a second time, “Where do you go, Estel?”

With the illumination of dawning Anor streaming in through the windows, lighting the golden Elf in its ambient light, Legolas’ frown and confusion only made the Elf appear more beautiful to the Ranger, for just seeing his lover was enough to make him happy this morn, even if Legolas did not look happy himself.

Picking up the satchel he had left upon the couch, Aragorn hefted the bag upon his shoulder, his own action reminding him of his appearance, the travel clothes he wore, the bag of his possessions he carried, and how he had only just told the Elf that he was heading to the stables. _He thinks I leave him._

The Ranger looked away from the hurt but inquisitive laegel. “It does not matter, Legolas. You are here and I am going nowhere – not anymore,” the human assured his Woodland companion. “But I must take care of something. Go back to sleep. I will return in just a few moments.”

Although he nodded, it was clear from Legolas' down turned face that the human’s assurance had not soothed the laegel’s worry, and so the Ranger stood before the Wood-Elf to explain further, “I go only to the stables to explain to my mare why I left her saddled all night.”

Legolas snickered at the Ranger’s demurral and mention of his mare's feisty temper, but amended his question, “Where _were_ you going?”

The Elf was obviously not about to let the Ranger by without admitting his destination. _I am not sure of how he will react,_ the human thought as he walked to Legolas. _I do not want him to worry._ Nevertheless, from the obstinate frown upon his lover’s face, Legolas was already worried.

“I was going to Eryn Galen,” the Ranger told the Elf, and upon seeing Legolas’ dismay at the suggestion that the human would return to the place where he had almost been left to rot in the dungeons, the Adan explained, “I needed to know that you were well.”

His horror falling into a melancholy sigh, the laegel reached out from where he sat, his hands gliding across the Ranger’s stomach to the limbs located at the human’s sides. Grabbing the Adan’s hands, he tugged at them, inciting Aragorn to lean down until the Elf and human’s faces were nearly touching.

“I am sorry. I should have written or sent a messenger, my friend,” the Prince whispered, wrapped his arms around the human’s shoulders, and then continued, “but I did not know what to tell you.”

 _Friend,_ the Ranger noticed with disappointment for the Prince's epithet but returned the laegel’s embrace nonetheless. _He calls me friend._

Placing a kiss on the Elf’s forehead, a disheartened Aragorn smiled down to the Silvan, “Go back to sleep. It is only dawn and you must still be tired.”

“I do not care to sleep anymore.” Desirous to stand, the Elf compelled the human to move by pushing lightly against Estel’s hip. “I will go with you. I could use the exercise.”

The Ranger acquiesced easily, for he had truly not wanted to let the laegel from his sight, anyway. He stepped away to give Legolas room to stand, though he held out his hand to assist the laegel. The aid was ignored, as the human had expected from the proud Prince. He grinned at the Wood-Elf’s indomitable nature, but before he could concoct a fitting, teasing remark for the laegel, Legolas grunted in pain and fell back into sitting upon the bed.

Legolas sat bent over, one hand held tightly to his side, while his other hand twisted into the blanket on which he sat. Immediately, the Ranger was kneeling before the Elf, his own hands reaching out to the Prince’s ribs, where they laid uselessly, for there was truly nothing the healer could do to help the Silvan's pain.

“Your father says that they are not broken. They will mend, Aragorn,” the Elf told the Ranger.

Unable to hold his curiosity in check, the man asked, “How did this happen, Greenleaf?”

Still, the laegel delayed divulging any details, telling Aragorn with a sardonic smile, “I’ve no wish to repeat my tale for each of you, and both Lord Elrond and the twins will wish to hear of what has happened.”

Unpleased by this deflection but knowing that the Prince would not answer if he did not wish to, Estel nodded. He rose from his kneel, telling the Elf, “I will find you some clothes.”

By the time that Aragorn returned from sifting through the chest at the end of the laegel’s bed, leggings in hand, the Wood-Elf’s pain had abated. He held out his hand for the trousers and Aragorn turned them over.

As he watched the Prince pull the trousers over his bruised legs, the man came to stand before Legolas again to aid the Elf in rising. His aid was not denied this time – the Wood-Elf let Estel help him onto his feet and did not balk when the Ranger kept a hold of the Elf’s shoulders while Legolas yanked the leggings up to his waist and tied them swiftly under the long cloth of his nightshirt.

Another brief glimpse of the Elf’s bared, bruised legs before he had covered them made the Ranger wonder aloud, “What did your father hit you with this time?” The bitter question was out before he could stop himself; Aragorn prepared to apologize.

However, Legolas answered the question regardless saying, “A wine bottle.” The Prince bent to pick up the boots that sat beside the settee, grunting again in pain at the movement, before adding, “His feet. His fists. The wall and floor.” When the laegel was upright again, boots in hand, he grinned at the Ranger. “Whatever he could find that would hurt.”

It was not the same self-deprecating smile that the laegel usually wore when speaking of his father’s abuse, but it disturbed the human no less that the Prince found humor in what the King had done to him. “And are you wounded badly? Your ribs are cracked, but what of the rest of you?”

“Bruises. They are only bruises.” The Elf left his boots upon the bed and limped to the corner, where his weapons and bags were sitting. He selected from the heap a long, dark cane made of black ash and carved into a pattern of overlapping leaves.

Although he tried to hide his alarm to see the laegel walking with a cane, Aragorn failed at this. He could not help but to stare at the Elf leaning upon the walking stick, his stomach churning to think that the once vibrant Elf might be forever hobbled by the horrid events of that long night before Aragorn’s departure, the night that the grieved Elf had hacked away at his own flesh.

“This is temporary as well,” the Prince told the Ranger in response to the frustrated expression upon the human’s face. Shaking the beautifully engraved cane for emphasis, Legolas promised, “I would not even need it now, except that the long hours of riding have not allowed me the exercise to keep my thigh limber. Before leaving Eryn Galen, I have not had the need to use it often.”

Bending down once more to retrieve something else from his bags, the Elf grabbed a tunic. With his head down, Legolas walked back to the bed and laid his cane and tunic upon it while removing his nightshirt. The Prince’s suddenly subdued and withdrawn behavior made the Ranger think, _He does not want me to see him nude._

Not knowing if the laegel acted thusly because he did not want the Ranger to witness the bruises upon his person, or if the Prince merely did not want Aragorn to observe him uncovered at all, Estel let the Elf have his privacy. He had already seen the bruising upon his lover, and so turned away, picking up the Elf’s weapon to occupy himself while the Prince changed into a different shirt.

“Your long knife.” The Ranger replaced the weapon carefully, sheathing the blade noiselessly within its leather-lined scabbard. “I did not think to take it with us when we left the forest, Legolas. I am glad that it was not lost.”

“The sentries found it when they found the merchants' bodies,” the Prince explained. Legolas sat upon the bed and grabbed his boots where he had placed them moments before. “Ada had it in his study. He gave it back to me one night.”

The mention of Thranduil silenced the Ranger; new questions came to mind, queries that Aragorn could find no answers for just yet. He bit his tongue and was glad when the laegel told him, “I am ready if you are.”

Aragorn positioned the long knife with the laegel’s other belongings and then held his arm out for Legolas. The Prince slipped his limb through the human’s, smiling agreeably as they walked from the room and out into the hallway. Although he would have liked to pretend that he was merely trying to help the Elf walk, truly he could not seem to stop touching the Silvan. After being parted from Legolas for what seemed such a long time, the human craved contact from his lover.

“Let me toss this bag into my room, Greenleaf, and then we will continue,” he told the Prince, loosening his hold of Legolas to open the door to his chambers.

Leaving the laegel in the hallway, Aragorn threw his satchel across his room, where it landed on his bed, clattering into the other bags already there. _Someone has brought my things from the stables._ He stepped farther into the room to peer behind the door. In its usual place on the short table where he stored it sat his saddle. _And my saddle as well._

“I have woken you for nothing,” he told the laegel with an apologetic smile and exited his bedroom. “Some kind stable hand has taken care of my mare for me and seen that my luggage is safely within my quarters.”

In the time the Ranger had been absent, Legolas had smoothed his tangled hair into a long braid that ran from the nape of his neck and down his back, the plait reaching almost to his supple rear – he finished tying the end of his hair with a piece of leather and then gave the human another smile. “Let us go anyway, Estel. I still need the exercise and I’ve had enough sleep.” Legolas began strolling through the hall, impelling Aragorn, whose arm was once more wedged tightly between the Elf’s arm and side, to follow.

The pair continued in quiet. Estel did not know what to talk about with the Prince. Any normal banter they might have enjoyed seemed trite in comparison to what needed to be said between them, and Estel had no desire to belittle the Elf’s despair with garrulous raillery. Therefore, instead of instigating any meaningless conversation, the Ranger only ambled alongside the Prince in silence. He kept his pace slow so that the wounded laegel would have no difficultly in matching his steps and the two persisted side by side down the hall and out of the Last Homely House.

He heard the Elf sigh and so turned to catch whatever emotion had created this sound – Legolas was smiling, his face turned upwards to the rising sun in the east, where flanked by the tall peaks of the Misty Mountains in the distance, Anor’s light shone between the crests, lighting the dew-laden valley in glimmering, feverishly green splendor.

The scar’s influence upon the Elf would need to be eradicated before the human could know for certain that the Prince chose the Ranger out of love and not out of instinctive need for comfort. The Ranger had not forgotten his promise to Elladan and to himself that this time he would make sure that the Prince was well before finding pleasure with the Elf. Additionally, they would need to be sure that the scar’s poisonous voice and its shrewd hold over Legolas would not continue to envenom the laegel during his recovery – that is, if his Greenleaf even desired him as a lover anymore.

 _It is a beautiful day,_ the Ranger thought as he looked around him in wonder. However, it was not the grandeur of Rivendell that kept him spellbound, but the breathtaking Elf beside him and the promise of having a second chance with Legolas.


	63. Chapter 63

Like many stable houses that were used to quarter great numbers of horses, the Imladrian barn was shaped into wings of stalls. If one could see the hidden haven from the mountainside above, the barn would appear much like a spider, for lines of horse stalls branched out in long legs from a center corridor. Each stall had two exits. One entrance led from the inner hallways that connected the wings to the main corridor, the portal itself merely a small opening through which the horse’s rider could enter the stall. The second entrance was a set of horizontally halved doors that could open together or independently of each other. These barn doors led to the uncovered, outside walkways by which the horses would traverse to and from their stalls.

It was against this second set of doors that Legolas leant, his hip holding his weight upon the closed lower half, while the upper part of Arato’s stall sat open to allow in the summery weather. The Elf felt more refreshed than he had in a long while. He knew that this was because he had stayed the night with Aragorn, whose constant touch had kept the laegel sleeping peacefully. Even this morning the laegel had permitted himself to enjoy the Ranger’s affection when he knew that he should not have done so, and this contact, as well, had kept the Elf in good spirits.

However, the peace of the Imladrian valley was also a factor in Legolas’ contentedness. He could not stop smiling at the beauty of Rivendell in the summit of spring’s prime.

The sun was just now shining fully upon the valley, its brilliance subdued by the steep incline of the crag in which the vale sat. The gorge below the Last Homely House, where the Bruinen cascaded along the steps of the riverbed, sounded forth a rowdy percussion as the water dropped from varying heights along its path. _The river earns its name of Loudwater,_ the Prince thought.

Arato gnawed contentedly upon the laegel’s hair, pulling it from its braid with his long, grey tongue, his muzzle resting on the Wood-Elf’s shoulder as they both listened to the Ranger talk to his mare in the stall next door. _If horses could smile,_ the Prince thought of the mare, who was obviously enjoying the human’s attention.

Whispering, Estel told the steed, “I am sorry that I forgot you. I became distracted.” Aragorn combed through the horse’s mane, untangling the coarse hair there.

The human appreciated animals as the Prince did. Perhaps the Ranger’s affection for animal kind came from the laegel himself, for the Elf had the aleatory opportunity during the Adan’s life – especially in Estel’s younger, formative years to influence the human into respecting the forests and all her creatures in the way of the Silvan. This trait was one of the many that caused the Elf to love the Adan. He was reminded of it now while watching the Ranger’s gentle treatment of and whispering to his mount. However, the sudden realization came to Legolas, _His mare has no name._

Wondering at this, the laegel ribbed the human curiously, “You talk to her as if she was a babe and yet you have never named her.” Arato snorted in agreement, the hot blast of air from his great nostrils blowing the loose strands of Legolas’ hair from his shoulder in blond streams.

“There is no point in naming her. Her life will be short.” Frowning at the Elf, and then looking back to his mare, the man continued to brush the horse’s sleek coat, saying with hidden meaning, “I do not understand how you can name each of your horses, Legolas, or love them as you do. You have owned more of them in your long life than a human King owns in all his stables. Surely it pains you to lose them.”

It was as if the Prince’s every sentence were being judged in some way, as if the Ranger were gleaning information from the laegel through this silly banter. It bothered the Elf that he could not tease Aragorn as he once did, but he thought to himself, _When I have spoken with the twins, Minyatar, and Estel, when I have told them what has happened, perhaps I can talk with Estel alone. And then, I hope, we will be friends as we once were._

Whether they would be more than friends again the laegel hoped, as well, but did not dare to think upon it. He knew exactly what the Ranger meant now by his rejoinder about the mare’s transitory life – the human spoke of his own mortality and his uncertainty of accepting the laegel’s love because of it.

Legolas tried to provoke the man into responding with repartee by saying, “You are transient, as well, Estel, and you have been named.”

“There is no use becoming attached to her,” the Ranger argued, not addressing the Elf’s statement, and his muscled back straightening at the sudden reciprocated undertone of their exchange. Despite his argument, he patted his mare’s hindquarters with fondness, having finished brushing her. He tossed the brush into the nearby bin and repeated, “Her life is short.”

“We are all fleeting notes in Eru’s song, our music melding together to form the totality of Ilúvatar’s will,” the Elf replied, serious now that he saw the Ranger was becoming upset, although he was not sure what he had said to incite the human’s perturbation, since he had been trying to comfort the man. “Her life is no less important merely because it is brief.”

“ _You_ are not fleeing,” the man argued. Aragorn turned to the Wood-Elf, facing him fully. The Ranger was more than upset, Legolas saw, and he was surprised to see it. The human was incensed, and by the laegel’s account, for very little reason. “ _You_ are forever – or at least, you should be.”

Regardless of the gravity of the topic, Legolas was overjoyed to receive this small token that the man still considered the effect of his mortality upon the immortal Elf, for it meant that he had not entirely forsaken the possibility of choosing the Prince as his mate.

As he thought of a way to argue against the human’s worries, Legolas’ disagreement was forfended with the Ranger’s sad smile and a wave of his hand. “Never mind, my friend. My thoughts are gloomy this morning and I do not know why. Let us not argue any further.”

Unaware, of course, that Aragorn had thought the same thing earlier, Legolas pondered, _He calls me friend._ The Ranger returned to caring for his mare, while the Prince stood lost in his thoughts, only vaguely aware of Arato’s wet nose as it brushed against his cheek in a vain attempt to garner the Elf’s straying attention.

A rift lay between Elf and Ranger. Last night, their joy to see each other had precluded the discomfort that separated them now. Legolas did not want this. He had been afraid of this very thing on the journey to Imladris. He watched the Ranger dote upon his horse for a moment more, and then the Elf turned his gaze to the ground, his attention no longer to Aragorn, but for the suspicious voice as it welled out of his already flooding self-doubts.

_It is a mistake. You should have stayed in Mirkwood. You are not wanted here._

He knew this was not true. He knew that Lord Elrond, the twins, and even the human before him were all excited to see the Prince, to know that their friend was well. However, it was not enough for the Elf. He wanted his Ranger. He wanted to know that Estel still loved him – not as friends, but as lovers.

“I should have brought Arato an apple,” the Ranger told the laegel, interrupting the silence of the quiet barn. Coming to stand at the wall separating the two partitions of the mare and stallion’s stalls, which separated the Elf and human as well, Aragorn petted Arato’s nose affectionately. The Adan explained amidst the stallion’s pleased grunts and loud exhales of air, “Arato asked for an apple last night, but I only had one, and had already given it to my mare.”

“Did he?” the distracted Elf inquired, studying the trampled, beaten dirt under his feet, and denying himself from reaching out for the man’s nearby hand.

The Ranger spoke, answering the laegel’s question, but the Wood-Elf did not hear it. What he heard instead was the fell insinuations of the scar’s vestiges, its promptitude in ruining the peace he had found in being in Imladris and with his friends not at all unforeseen, though expecting the voice to wreck his good mood made its presence no less bothersome.

 _He does not want you,_ the voice told him, its interpretations of Aragorn’s odd behavior ringing too true to the Elf, as he had no explication for it himself. _He will tell you that his mortality would hurt you because he seeks any excuse to be rid of you._

“Legolas?”

_You should not be here. You should not even be alive._

He did not hear the human’s query, did not see Aragorn as he stepped in front of him, and so was startled when Estel placed his hand under the Elf’s chin, lifting Legolas’ face upwards to meet his alarmed gaze.

“What is wrong, Greenleaf?”

The gentle touch stopped the foul voice at once, and though it did so without intent from Aragorn, the Elf pulled away as if the human had struck him.

“I am sorry,” the Ranger apologized and stepped back, confusion mixing with the hurt that painted the human’s drawn features.

“No, Estel. I am sorry.” Legolas wanted to take the healer’s limb as he had done last night, to take comfort from the human once more, to show the Ranger that he meant no harm by withdrawing from Estel’s touch, but he did not. Instead, the Elf gave his companion a smile and tried to explain, “I was caught in my own thoughts and have lost track of our conversation. Arato desired the apple you had brought for your mare?”

Although he did not believe this oversimplified explanation, the human did not question the Prince. Indeed, the Ranger appeared as unsure as the Silvan of how to behave around the other. The easy friendship they had shared for many years was untouched, but the mutual admission of love they had made by the brook and since then was contested by recent events, and those recent events had forever changed how the Elf and Ranger would perceive the other. It would not be possible, the Elf saw in that moment, for Aragorn and him simply to be friends again. They would be lovers; else, they would suffer this stilted and unnatural mockery of friendship.

However, the Ranger smiled again and continued his story in a voice heavy with worry, but kind in patience, “He did. The twins were coming to tell me that you had arrived, but had not yet found me. I was here, in the stables, preparing to leave for Mirkwood, and was feeding my mare an apple. Arato is the one who told me that you had arrived in Imladris.”

The stallion snickered at the Ranger’s statement, while his master did much the same. Legolas reached up to pet Arato’s nose where it still sat upon his shoulder. He told Estel, giving the human a playful grin, “Arato is capable of many things, but I have never known him to talk.”

“I thought that he wanted an apple, but he was complaining about something else.” The Ranger grinned in return as he blushed lightly in embarrassment, telling Legolas, “I was speaking to my mare and must have said your name.”

Legolas’ breath caught in his chest to think that the human had been speaking to his mare about the Elf, but then laughed at his own silliness. Between the human’s beautiful, sheepish blush, and the knowledge that the Adan had been planning to storm Mirkwood for news of her Prince, it pleased the Wood-Elf to know he had been so high in Estel’s thoughts last night, even before hearing that Legolas had arrived in Imladris.

The laegel did not need to know what reaction that Aragorn saying his name last night around Arato had elicited from the horse – unsuspecting Elves and men had found out quickly that Arato loved his master, and could not endure long separations from the gentle Wood-Elf. It was the very reason that Kalin and his sentries had brought the stallion with them months ago when fetching their Prince from Imladris. The speckled mount did not like to be left alone by his owner, and when hearing the laegel’s name, would sometimes act aggressively until Legolas himself came to the stables to calm him.

“I am surprised that he did not kick down the stable doors,” the Prince said, and then chastised his stallion, bumping his cheek against the mount’s nose, “You should be more careful, Arato, or you will break a leg – or someone else’s.”

Aragorn rubbed the stallion’s sensitive snout gingerly, which brought the Ranger closer to Legolas, whose shoulder was still the pillow upon which the horse’s head sat. The human told the Elf, “I have never known a horse to love his master so.”

“Imagine that,” the laegel wondered aloud, his mind working quickly to address the issue that the man had dismissed before. He wanted nothing to stand between the Ranger and him. “Arato has a short life and yet he loves me.” The Elf harrumphed, infusing bewilderment into his good-natured barb. “And despite his short life, I love him, as well, and no less for it.”

Guardedly, the Ranger crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the Elf, having realized the Prince’s allusion to the human’s earlier anomalous speech concerning his mare’s short life and thus her inconsequentiality to those living longer lives.

But upon seeing the Wood-Elf’s budding, teasing smile, the human’s foul mood disappeared in a groan. Aragorn shook his head and smirked at the Prince. “You compare me to a horse?”

“You compared _yourself_ to a horse, Estel. Besides, your father and brothers love you, while knowing that you are mortal,” the Elf continued as if the Ranger had not snorted his protest. Legolas added to himself, however, _Why should I not love you as well?_ The Silvan did not ask it aloud, for he still feared that the Ranger would reject him in this way. He also heard the twins’ approach from down the corridor and did not care to continue this conversation around them.

The two Noldor in question were walking down the aisle of the stables, both of them grinning widely at the Wood-Elf and their human brother. “That we do love you, brother,” Elladan stated without preamble upon reaching the stalls where Ranger and Prince were located. “Except when you wander off and force us into hunting you down to find our Wood-Elf brother.”

“Indeed,” the younger twin agreed, saying, “though it is becoming your habit to hide in the stables, so at least we were not long in searching.” Elrohir made his way from the inner hallway, through the mare’s stall, and slipped out the opened set of doors to reach Legolas. “Else I dare say that we would have amassed a search party for you, Greenleaf!”

Elladan followed behind his twin, both of them having bypassed Aragorn without a second glance or much hello, to fuss over Legolas. The Ranger wasn’t upset at this in the least. He grinned at the laegel when Elrohir nearly picked the Wood-Elf off the ground with the buoyant force of his embrace.

“Ada wishes you to meet with us for breakfast in his study,” the twin told Legolas, moving to allow Elladan his turn to hug the Prince. It seemed the twins could not quite believe the Wood-Elf was in the valley, as well, and sought their own affirmation that Legolas was truly with them. “He waits there now for us to return.”

“I am finished here,” the Ranger offered, giving his mare a final once over and then closing the outer doors to her stall. “And I am sure that Legolas is hungry. Let us go.”

He was not hungry in the least, but as he knew he would not escape the telling of his coming to Imladris, or eating, for that matter, Legolas nodded his concurrence. The three Elves and human walked through Arato’s stall, leaving the stallion and now appeased mare to their own devices.

The laegel followed behind the twins out of the stable, across the lawn, and to the courtyard, listening to the talkative Elrohir chatter to his quiet-natured brother in a one-sided conversation that required no response from Elladan, for his twin already knew his brother’s thinking, even if he could not hear his thoughts. With Estel only a step behind him, the Prince could feel the Ranger’s anticipation to know of his companion’s story, to hear the events that had brought Legolas to Rivendell when the laegel had promised his King that he would not see the human ever again. He had nothing to dread in telling his friends of what he had done in Eryn Galen. In fact, he expected their exhilaration to know that the Silvan, who had long lived under his father’s thumb, had crawled from beneath it. He may not have made a mistake in expecting the twins, Elf Lord, and Ranger to welcome him to Imladris, but thought, _Even so, I have abandoned my father. I broke my promise to him. I disappoint him._

Placing a balancing hand at the small of the Elf’s back, Estel matched his pace to the Prince's so that the two walked side by side. Without thinking of what the human might assume from his action, the Prince pulled away from the contact – unlike the past months of avoiding the Ranger’s touch to retain his numbed condition or to avoid his grief, the laegel now avoided Aragorn for a different reason.

He could not quiet the voice in this way – he could not fall into the same habit of misuse of the Ranger’s care for him, whether it was the affection between friends or that of lovers, to avoid facing his problems. He had done this before and it had only served to prolong his despair.

However, when Estel walked closer to him, his head turned to Legolas to gauge the Elf’s mood, the spiteful voice from within told the laegel, _Push Estel away and away he will remain. It will not take much to cause him to leave you, for he desires it already. You have caused him enough pain and misery._

The Wood-Elf’s stride broke. He stopped walking and the cane was suddenly not enough support for him. His thigh emitted lacerating throbbing throughout his leg and up his back; the whole side of his body became paralyzed with cramping, debilitating pain. The cane slipped out from under him – it scraped across the mossy flagstones of the courtyard, fell out of his hand, and clattered to the ground.

Before the Elf even began to fall by way of his cane, which clattered across the stones, the Ranger was holding him up by the waist, his arms looped around the Elf’s hips to keep the Prince upright. Immediately, the voice was silent. The pain evaporated and the strength of his muscles was restored, until only the usual ache of his maltreated, healing thigh remained.

“Legolas?” the Ranger whispered, holding the Elf still and against him, until the twins came to stand before the Prince.

The Noldor helped Estel keep the Silvan from falling, and with what he hoped was a surreptitious step forward, an attempt to pull himself away from the Ranger’s hands, Legolas moved farther into Elladan and Elrohir’s arms. “I am fine, now,” he told them, smiling his thanks at the Noldor. “It was only a spasm. It has passed.”

He turned to face Estel, giving the human the same thankful smile as he had given the twins, but this faltered at seeing the discontentment and perplexity upon the Adan’s visage.

“Come then,” the human told the laegel and his twin brothers, stooping down to pick up the Wood-Elf’s cane, handing it to Legolas, and then striding past them to open the door for the trio. “Let us not keep Ada waiting.”

 _I need to speak with Estel alone,_ the Elf thought of the human, who was upset once again by the Prince’s fault. Leaning his weight upon the cane once more, though the twins on either side of him kept good hold and he did not fear falling, he cogitated, _Estel may not understand, but it must be different this time._ He could find no easy way to explain to the human that though he loved the Ranger, wanted always to be with him, and would do anything to retain their friendship, he could not be with Estel now. If he ever wanted to find happiness with the Ranger – should the Adan even still desire the laegel – Legolas would need to be well, and he could not become so by avoiding confronting his self-loathing as he had avoided his grief. He had allowed the human to touch him already last night and this morning, tempting himself into continuing his denial in this way, but he could do it no longer. He would do whatever it took to be well, to be healthy for Aragorn, his friends, Elrond, his father, his people – and for himself.

It seemed a simple thing, but just because it seemed simple did not make this task any easier, not when while walking by the Ranger and into the Last Homely House, Legolas looked into the silver eyes of Estel to see the unending worry and puzzled dolor there.


	64. Chapter 64

They sat in the sun upon the terrace, gathered about the round, stone table where Elrond and his sons often took meals when desiring to be alone with each other, rather than with the many people who would come to the hall of fire to dine for each meal. The Ranger sat across from the laegel, his foster father to his right and Elladan to his left. Elladan was seated beside the laegel on one side and Elrohir on his other. Between sating his own hunger, the human stared openly at the Prince, watching the Elf’s actions without qualm.

 _He has gained weight since I left Mirkwood, but not enough,_ the Ranger considered of the Prince. Still the laegel’s face was gaunt, his high cheekbones standing out more so than they had before his bout with tragedy, the hollows beneath curving inwardly too much. The bruises upon his lover’s visage did nothing to improve the laegel’s sickly appearance, for they stood out darkly against the Silvan Prince’s pale skin.

The Elf all but hid his food in his napkin to avoid consuming it. Had not the Ranger been intent upon the Prince eating as he should, it would have amused Aragorn to see the proud laegel rolling his morning bread into small, compressed bits, and then pushing these bits under the slices of fruit that the Elf had nibbled upon but not finished. Had he not wanted to avoid embarrassing Legolas in front of the twins and their Ada, Estel would have brought to the Wood-Elf’s attention that he could see that Legolas was not eating, if only so that the laegel would partake of something nourishing. As the Prince pushed another bite of bread around, this time pushing it off the platter altogether and onto the table to hide it under the rim of his plate, Aragorn happened to catch the laegel’s eye. The Wood-Elf grinned roguishly at Estel and was not at all bothered, it seemed, to be caught.

Last night the laegel had seemed eager to have Aragorn near, and this morning, before tending their horses, the Elf had held his arm while walking to the stables. Since then, Legolas had pulled away from Aragorn several times, which confused the Ranger. The Prince did not seem angry with Estel, nor was he acting aloof even now.

_He acts like two different Elves. I am not sure which is the real Legolas._

After the Elf Lord had inquired about the laegel’s healing ribs, the family had spent the last hour speaking of nothing important. They had listened to the twins argue about the precise, proper shade of green that the leaves of a leek should be to show that it is ready to be picked and then added to the family’s dinner of venison stew. Such inanity the Ranger had grown accustomed to many years ago, but now, he wanted to bang together the identical heads of Elrohir and Elladan to quiet them. The Noldorin brothers argued for fun, not for any true reason, except perhaps to amuse Legolas, who alternately grinned with delight and playfully scoffed at their silly row to keep their attention on their squabble rather than him.

 _He does not wish to tell us of his time in the Greenwood,_ the Ranger guessed correctly.

To get the laegel talking, and hopefully to change the topic, Aragorn asked of the Prince, interrupting the twins, “What is your opinion of leeks and their color, Legolas?”

Elladan and Elrohir quieted, waiting for the Prince to side with one of them, but the laegel, too experienced in keeping both brothers happy, tilted his head to the side as if giving the twins’ argument serious thought. Legolas nodded astutely, saying, “I must agree with you on the matter, Estel.”

Twin looked to twin, and then to their father, who was ignoring his progeny pointedly while looking over some report or notes scrawled upon a ledger that was spread before him on the table. “Estel has not given his opinion,” the smiling elder twin spoke slowly, as if the Silvan were a dim Elfling.

“Yes, I know,” he replied to them, and gave the Ranger another mischievous grin.

The Imladrian leader looked up from his papers. “That is a wise answer, Greenleaf, which I must agree with, as well.”

The twin brothers laughed at their father’s concord with the Elf and Ranger. As Estel had hoped, they quit their bickering. The younger twin soon turned earnestly to Legolas, who sat beside him at the short table. “Tell us of how you came to Imladris,” the younger twin asked.

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He had enjoyed breakfast very much – not the food, as such, but the company. Just spending time with his Minyatar, the twins, and Aragorn had been soothing to the Prince. He had missed Elladan and Elrohir’s annoying banter and arguments. He had missed his Minyatar’s quiet presence. He had even missed the Ranger’s incessant worry.

However, it seemed that the time for such simple pleasure was over. His story needed to be told, and the meddlesome, albeit loving twins, the anxious human, and their no less inquisitive father wanted to hear of how he had come to Imladris. They all looked to him, awaiting his answer. The Wood-Elf took his cup of tea, holding it to his nose and feeling the steam of it lighting upon his skin, before he quit stalling and finally took a sip.

“There is little to relate,” the young Silvan offered as he sat his cup back upon the table. He had no wish to tell his friends of how he had awoken tied to his bed shortly after they had left. He did not want them to know of the pain of not just enduring but overcoming the threatening pull of his grief into death – for the Peredhel and the twins, this would only resurrect bad memories of Celebrian’s troubles before she set sail for Valinor. Nor did he wish to dwell upon the time he had spent languishing over his absent mate, not when the Ranger may not consider himself the Elf’s lover any longer.

All that they needed to know was this: “The numbness left me, and with its demise, I could no longer cast aside my grief. It took me, but the grief, too, has abated, though not entirely.” The twins and their father nodded, for they knew that the sorrow would never leave the laegel, though it might not threaten his life any longer. Legolas continued, shrugging his shoulders, “I will be well, I believe.”

“And the scar, Greenleaf?” Elladan prompted.

Legolas would not lie, but it pained him to admit this to his friends. “It has not quieted,” he told them, playing with the food on his plate again, and thereby not meeting any of their troubled gazes. “It speaks to me as it did before.”

Their fear for him washed over the laegel, its depths knocking him back physically, such that he rocked in his seat. Their joy to see him, to know that he was alive, was no lessened, but his friends’ concern only increased, and it upset him to be such a burden upon these Elves and Adan whom he loved as his family. Not even Elrond spoke, so engaged in their own thoughts were the foursome on this terrible bit of news, and so chancing to look up, he assured them, feeling embarrassed by the need to tell them but wanting to ameliorate their concern, “The scar heals.” He alluded, unable to bring himself to admit outright that he had left his marred flesh be since the night of the twins’ and human’s departure from the dark forest stronghold, “It has endured no further injury.”

Lord Elrond nodded at this additional explanation, the twins smiled at him in tandem and with relief. Legolas turned to the Ranger, anticipating the human’s relief, as well. However, what he saw there confounded him; the Ranger looked back at him with perceptivity, as if he had been struck with realization, though about what the laegel did not know.

Elladan interrupted the Silvan’s ponderings, querying, “What of the King, Legolas? How did you convince your father to let you come to Imladris?”

“I told him that I should not have made the promise to remain, that some promises should not be kept if they should not have been made,” the Elf said to his friends. He was unable to keep himself from smiling at the Ranger, for he was reminded of the human saying the same to him upon the balcony those weeks ago. “I told him that I was leaving for Imladris on the morn.”

“I take it from your bruises that he was not pleased with your decision,” his Minyatar said.

Legolas sighed. He pushed the mostly full plate of food away from him, its smell souring his stomach. “Ada has not been the same since the night that…the merchant…” Taking a deep breath, the Elf tried again, turning his thoughts away from Kane. “Ada has tried. Until the night before I left Eryn Galen, he had been as he used to be, before Naneth died. Well,” he amended with a wry smile, “perhaps not the same as he was before Naneth died. He did not drink as much, though. He was careful in his words and actions.”

“He did not hit you? He did not rail at you?” The Ranger pushed his own plate away to fold his arms upon the stone, moving his upper body over them as if trying to get closer to the Wood-Elf across the table.

The Prince smiled again, this time with genuine warmth for his father, telling his friends, “No, he did not. Every morning he came to my rooms. I would attend the meetings and councils with him, spending most of the day by his side, until nightfall. He would go to his study to drink and I would go to my chambers to sleep.”

Wistfully, the laegel thought of the short-lived serenity his father had brought him during this time and how he had destroyed this peace so that he could return to his lover. “But I could not stay in Eryn Galen with my father,” he told them quietly, his disgrace rising at the injustice he had perpetrated against the King. “I could not heal there.”

He gave no justification behind why he had to leave. The Prince propped his elbows upon the table and put the heels of his hands against his eyes. No one had yet to ask him why he came to Imladris. It would not have surprised any that he preferred their company to his father’s if his father had beaten or berated the Prince, as was his wont. To leave the King when Thranduil was treating his son with love and respect – this made little sense.

“When I told him that I was leaving for Imladris, he became furious. I promised him I would return next spring,” he explained, his face still resting against his hands. “He beat me as he always has, to force me into submitting to his will. He wished me to fight him, and I could not, so I let him hit me, while repeating to him that I was leaving for Imladris in the morning.”

Memories of his father standing behind him while he was bent over the desk, the sudden upsurge of hatred and fear that had linked this to the merchant bending him over the chair to abuse him, came to the Prince once again. Drawing his hands away from his face, he sat back in his seat and watched the courtyard and forests below and around him. Bustling activity characterized the valley. Impromptu song could be heard in the distance.

“But he did not relent. I thought he would kill me. When I could take it no longer,” he evaded, leaving out of his story the impetus for attacking his father, “I broke a bottle of wine, threatening him with it. I told him that should he hit me again, I would kill him. Had not Kalin come into the room, having heard my threat to my father, then I fear I _would_ have killed him. Kalin took the bottle and restrained Ada from beating me to death for threatening him.”

The Noldor and human sat quietly, patiently, as they listened with rapt attention to the Prince’s heartbreaking tale. Their distress was mounting; Legolas felt to be drowning in it.

“The scar spoke to me then. Kalin implored me to tell my King of it, to be rid of this burden.” Legolas wrapped his arms around his waist in a vague recreation of a hug. “I told my father everything. I told him of the scar and how its opinions are the same as his opinions. He decided I was mad, but then could not understand why I did not tell him this before.”

The laegel snorted in incredulity at the recollection, the sight of his father sitting amidst his bottles of wine, finally repentant of his treating his son so violently, though this remorse had come too little and too late. “I left him. He begged me not to go.” A single tear escaped from his tightly shut eyes, trailing along his cheek until it fell from his down-turned face and into his lap. “But I could not stay with him.”

The single tear became two, and then three, until the laegel once more rested his elbows upon the table and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to stop the flow of liquid there.

“Greenleaf will meet up with you later, my sons. I wish to speak with him alone for a moment,” the elder commanded after a few minutes of silence. Although he expected the twins and especially the Ranger to argue, they did their father’s bidding without complaint.

“Look at me.” When the Silvan did as he was asked, Elrond smiled at the Wood-Elf reassuringly, “Why, when your father was doing so well, Greenleaf, did you choose to leave him?”

Without meaning to, the Imladrian Lord’s blunt words were accusative. They burned the younger Elf’s already seething conscience. The Prince felt the tips of his ears smolder with shame.

_You are selfish. Even Minyatar sees that you are so._

“Legolas!” the Imladrian healer barked, his voice gruff, as if annoyed.

At once, the Wood-Elf’s head shot up to show respect to his elder, his hands dropping away from his face and to the tabletop, while he replied instinctively, “Yes, my Lord?”

However, the half-Elf was not angry, nor did his loving smile match his harsh command of just a moment ago. “It speaks to you now, does it not?”

“Yes, Minyatar,” the Silvan replied. He put his hands in his lap, lacing his fingers together to keep them from massaging his aching, recriminating thigh.

With fatherly interest, his kind face evincing that there was nothing that the Wood-Elf could not tell his Minyatar that might cause Elrond to turn away from him, the Peredhel asked, “What does it say to you?”

To hear the internal voice speak his private doubts and worries was one thing; to tell Elrond of these doubts and worries was another. He had told the Elf Lord information that caused him more shame than would this, however, and so admitted, even while hanging his head again in disgrace, “That I am selfish. That you believe me to be so.”

Squeaking loudly as Elrond dragged it from the table, the chair beside Legolas was soon sat upon by the Peredhel, who then scooted the chair even closer to the Wood-Elf. Sweeping aside the long braid there, Elrond laid a comforting arm across the young Silvan’s shoulders, while with the free hand of his other arm he took a napkin from the table and wiped at the trailing tears upon the Prince’s pallid face.

“Selfish? You are one of the most selfless Elves I’ve met.” Again, the Imladrian asked, “Why did you leave Eryn Galen?”

“To be with Estel, and you, Elladan, and Elrohir,” the Wood-Elf said. He faced his Minyatar, telling the elder Elf, “I could not live without Estel.”

“That is not so selfish a reason, ion nin. Estel is your lover and lovers should not be forced apart,” the healer told him with more than a hint of sadness in his voice. The Noldo had been forced from his lover; he could well imagine Legolas’ tribulations.

The Prince despaired, “But now that I am here, I cannot even be with him. I cannot use Estel to avoid my grief. I cannot let Estel distract me from healing this final wound.” Pulling air into his lungs, an action that stretched his bruised chest painfully, the laegel berated himself, “I must not be weak now, not when I am almost healed!”

“Weak? You are not weak. Besides,” the Imladrian argued, “have you yet to consider, Greenleaf, that your avoiding Estel’s touch is not a solution to your problems, but a symptom of them?” The Elf Lord rubbed his hand across the Prince’s back, while placing his face closer to Legolas’, his eyebrows lifting together and beneath them his verdigris eyes opening wide to peer at the Prince. He said, “Estel’s touch shows his love. Why would you deny yourself this?”

This stopped the laegel’s discordant, rambling thoughts. He had not considered such a thing at all. Indeed, the younger Elf’s mouth opened to protest his Minyatar’s conclusions, but he could find no words to deny them.

“You have come to Imladris to heal, have you not? Do not tell me that you have come to us only to carry your burden alone. I’ve no herbs in my storeroom to salve this wound you carry, no spells or magic of any use, nor any knowledge of what might aid you, Greenleaf. This doubting voice you hear is corrigible, my son, and it will only quiet with time, with patience, and by letting us help you however we might.”

“I am mad,” he told the healer. “There is no hope for such lunacy as that from which I suffer.”

The Peredhel laughed softly and pulled Legolas to him to envelope the Prince in his fatherly embrace. “Perhaps so. Perhaps you are mad, I do not know. It does not matter, does it? You are still the valiant warrior and fine archer you were before, still the beautiful Elfling I have known for many years. You are still our Greenleaf and will be welcomed here in the Last Homely House as long as it is standing, loved by my sons and myself.”

He understood the Imladrian’s attempts to make light of the Prince’s worry with his affable jest, but Legolas also inferred from Elrond’s speech that the healer was offering what his own father had rescinded from his son many years ago – unconditional acceptance and unquestioning love.

“Do not mistake me, Greenleaf. I believe that you will heal and I do not think you mad. However, it might be best to give yourself time before you and Estel find pleasure together, to be certain that your despair has abated, but do not refuse his affection because of the scar, else you only facilitate this odium that binds you to its control. You deserve Estel’s love. Do not turn it away.”

The Elf blushed lightly once again to hear his Minyatar speak of such intimate things. “If Estel will even have me,” he said, uttering his worst fear aloud without thinking.

“Not have you? Legolas,” the Imladrian assured, shaking his head against the top of Legolas’ bowed one in disbelief, “Estel has been moping around the valley for weeks, waiting for some word of you! He has been guilt-ridden for leaving you to face your grief alone, and he holds himself responsible for much of what occurred in your father’s halls.”

Legolas pulled away from the elder’s comforting hug, his mind reeling at the Elf Lord’s assurances. _Could Estel truly feel this way?_ he asked himself.

“It is _I_ who should be asking for _his_ forgiveness,” the laegel exclaimed. “I have caused him more harm than any he could have caused me. Indeed,” the Elf amended, “Estel helped me to overcome my grief!”

“Apologize to him if you must, but I would wager that you will find Estel seeks your forgiveness, as well, and that neither of you holds a grudge against the other,” the healer advised.

The sooths that the healer spoke calmed the laegel’s trepidations like none had yet to do, for few could encourage the Prince as his knowledgeable and kind Minyatar.

“Go find him, Greenleaf, and tell him what you have told me.” Elrond followed his counsel with another playful smile, appearing much like his twin sons in his amusement as he added, “And remember, young one, no strenuous activity.”

 _He must enjoy watching me blush!_ the Silvan thought to himself as he gave his thanks to a grinning Elrond. Leaving the Elf Lord to his tasks, whatever important undertakings the esteemed leader had need to complete this day, Legolas straightened his clothing and smoothed his hair as he walked. _I will find Estel immediately. If Minyatar is right, and I am sure that he is, then Estel suffers even now wondering whether I forgive him or not!_

The idea of the Adan worrying over such a thing, when it was as Legolas had said to Elrond that no apologies from the human were needed, but gratitude given to the man instead, caused the Elf to hasten his step, forgoing using the cane as he should have. He wanted to assuage his Ranger’s mislaid guiltiness at once and to seek his own pardon from the human. He did not need to search for his lover for long, because upon exiting the Imladrian leader’s study, he found Aragorn sitting in the hallway on one of the benches there. The man’s head was resting against the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his long legs stretched out. It appeared to the Prince that the human was sleeping, but as he approached, the man’s eyes flew open and he sat upright.

“Legolas,” the human began, “are you well?”

He held his hand out to the human to aid the Ranger into rising. Skeptically, the Adan eyed the Elf’s hand, and then the laegel’s face, as if determining something behind this simple action.

“I am fine. Come,” the Elf told the Ranger. “Let us find someplace quiet. I wish to speak with you.”

Finally, the human took the Elf’s hand. He rose from the bench, and when Legolas slid his arm through the Ranger’s, hooking his bent elbow to lock with Estel’s, Aragorn sighed, moving closer to the Elf for greater contact. “I know where we might talk – if your leg is not too sore.”

Shaking his head in the negative, the Elf smiled at the human and let the Ranger lead him where he might.


	65. Chapter 65

What had been a field of mud and dormant vegetation when last he had seen it was now a meadow of blooming wildflowers. The entire ground was blanketed in crimson clover, their ruby red flowers dotting between the clumps of dark, lofty grasses and not yet blooming goldenrod, which already stood proudly taller than the rest of the foliage. To many others, this meadow would have been weeds or simply a beautiful field, but to Legolas, it meant much more. The Ranger had always understood the laegel’s love of nature, and from the pleased way he watched the Prince when Legolas stopped to view the entire field ere they entered it, Aragorn had planned for this very reaction from the Elf.

“You could not have chosen a better spot,” the Silvan told the Ranger, resuming walking arm in arm with the human towards the edge of the pasture. They passed amongst the flowers, sweeping the goldenrod aside with their legs as they ambled without hurry and without speaking of their destination, although both veered towards the old oak tree at the edge of the archery field.

Aragorn still watched the Prince, his face lighting with a loving smile at seeing the genuine bliss that the laegel found from being amidst the wildflowers. “I am glad you think so, because I prepared it especially for you.”

The Elf laughed at the human’s audaciousness. “You planted each seed yourself, did you?”

With his hands holding the Prince by his upper arms, Aragorn helped the Wood-Elf into sitting upon the grass under the large oak tree. He kept the Elf from falling or needing to twist his bruised and cracked ribs, and did not release his hold until Legolas was in no danger of further injury.

When the Silvan was seated and scooting himself closer to the tree’s rotund trunk to recline against it, the human lowered himself to his knees to be by the Elf. He answered the Prince, “I planted each seed, Legolas, and I watered each of them, as well.”

“That must have taken you some time each day,” the laegel replied, his deportment serious, although he could not keep the shine of humor from his cerulean eyes. “And many trips to the river and back to fill your watering can.”

The Ranger smiled back at Legolas as he settled into a comfortable position against the oak. Their usual jocular banter was reciprocated by both, its return came with as much effortlessness as it had always between Firstborn and Secondborn, which mitigated the Prince’s unease about the conversation the Elf and Ranger would need to have.

“It was just as well I had something to take up my time. I have been restless these past weeks,” the human told him, his sentiment obvious.

The Ranger sat close to the Elf, his hip flush with Legolas’ hip, and their arms pressed together. They sprawled against the tree, enjoying the slight breeze blowing the grasses and flowers of the meadow into a rustling wave of innate splendor. Legolas thought of how to tell his Ranger what he knew he had to tell him, but it was Aragorn who broke the silence.

“What happened with your father, Legolas?” The human shifted so that he sat sideways, his shoulder supporting him against the trunk such that he could face the Prince.

The Elf had already told the twins, Elrond, and Estel a little of what had occurred. He knew what the Ranger wished to know, however – the human wanted to hear not merely the details of what had happened, but how Legolas had been affected by it, what influence this had wrought upon the scar, and what might come of the actions of that night. Aragorn wanted to know that Legolas was well.

“Ada wanted me to fight him. To _fight_ him,” the Prince wondered aloud without preamble to his words, his disbelief no less now than it was at the time to think that his father would ever expect his son to brawl with him. “I could not, Estel, and I did not, not until he gave me no other choice. Even then, I only knocked him off me and threatened him not to strike me again.” Wanting to see the man as he spoke, to know what the human thought of his story, Legolas turned his head to glance at the Ranger.

Aragorn was listening intently, his head nodding as if agreeing with the Prince’s words. “You have stood up to him, and I am glad for it! King Thranduil would have deserved your anger, had you given it to him, for you have so often been the brunt of his.”

He felt uncomfortable to hear the Ranger speak of his father so brusquely, so crossly. “He is my father, Estel. I would not fight him – not unless forced to do so.” The Ranger sobered his resentment, nodding mutely to the Elf. Legolas assured Aragorn, “But he will not keep me from Imladris any longer. I live under his rule as my King, and he is a good King, but I will not live under his tyranny as a father. I do not deserve it.”

Aragorn scrutinized the Wood-Elf, perhaps looking for some sign of possible mendacity or uncertainty. “Thranduil and I have our disagreements.” The human’s casual understatement was followed by a flash of a smirk on the Ranger’s whiskered face. “But I’ve no wish to stand between you and your father, Greenleaf, nor does Elrohir, Elladan, or our Ada.”

Legolas turned his own body to match the Ranger’s recline against the oak, though it twisted his bruised ribs. He then rested his ear upon the old tree’s rough bark. The proximity of his ear to the tree made little difference in his ability to perceive the oak’s happiness, for the forest’s noisome singing resounded through his Silvan soul without his needing to pay attention to it. In the past months, the scar’s voice had superseded the joyful sounds of the forest and its accompanying song of life. His time recuperating from the self-inflicted wounds upon his person, time of which had been spent in his rooms in Eryn Galen, had also whetted the Elf’s appetite to be amidst the trees and forest – a craving that had not yet been slaked to the Wood-Elf’s satisfaction.

Exhaling a long breath, Aragorn continued, “If you mean that you are haunted by Thranduil’s opinions or will submit to the threat of his violence no longer, then I am content to hear it, Legolas. You are truly healing – and not just wounds that are recently inflicted, but old wounds, as well.”

As their faces were close together, Legolas could smell the vague hint of pipe-weed on the human’s breath. The green tang of the grass, the heavy perfume of the flowers, and the moist smell of the dirt under them – all these things he noticed. It was easier to enjoy such uncomplicated diversions in the Ranger’s presence, without the castigating vociferations of the mar or his self-hatred.

“I have promised Ada that I will return before next spring,” the Elf told the Ranger. “I will keep this promise. And if I am not thrown into the dungeons immediately,” he jested, though it earned him a frown of worry from the man sitting beside him, “then Ada and I will have much to discuss upon my return. He is my father,” the Elf repeated with a slight shrug, “and I love him.”

“He may try to force your return.” The human scowled with unconcealed, bitter annoyance, but then shook his head, declaring with amusement, though his words bore a portent of which neither was aware at the time, “But you will not leave Imladris so easily once more, Greenleaf! I doubt your Minyatar will let you, unless Thranduil himself comes to fetch you. Even then, Ada will have much to discuss with the King should he try.”

The Elf grinned at the idea of his father coming to collect him, an idea that seemed preposterous to the laegel, and then the even more entertaining imagining of his Minyatar lecturing Thranduil like an Elfling made the Prince laugh aloud. “Kalin and I expected that his sentries would catch up to us during our entire ride here. Much to our surprise, we arrived here without a single mishap, unless you count Oiolaire’s cooking as a misfortune, which I am tempted to do.”

Giving a knowing bump of his shoulder against the Elf’s shoulder, Aragorn stated, “I am certain that he would count yours as a calamity as well, my love.”

 _My love,_ the Elf noticed, delighted to hear the affectionate sobriquet. _He calls me ‘my love’ once again._

“Besides,” the Ranger said drolly, changing the topic back to Thranduil, “perchance your father has decided to leave you to your own devices for a while. Maybe you have shown him that you are not swayed by his rage any longer.”

Legolas crossed his legs where they were extended out into the yielding grass, laying his wounded thigh atop the uninjured one. “I should not have left him.” He smoothed the cloth of his leggings out over the marred flesh of his leg, pressing down with the palm of his hand to massage lightly the aching muscle underneath – all of which occurred under the Ranger’s watchful gaze. “He tried. He tried to be the father that he might have been had not Naneth died, but I could not be the son to him that he wished. I could not be what he wanted from me.”

“And nor should you try to be perfect for him.” Asking without knowing what Elrond had asked the Wood-Elf only a brief time earlier, Aragorn queried, “Why did you leave him if he was being the father to you that he should have been all these many years?”

The Silvan found it hard to tell the human that he had come to Imladris to be with him. There were other reasons for his coming back – the twins, his Minyatar, the chance to heal both his rhaw and faer. _Estel knows the answer to this question,_ the Elf contemplated, rubbing the throb of his overused thigh muscles under the Adan’s observation, _unless he has his own doubts about my love for him._

Instead of answering the Ranger’s question, he told the human straightforwardly, “I am sorry, Estel.”

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Aragorn’s mouth opened in surprise, his head already shaking to negate the uncalled for apology. Not sure for what the Prince was apologizing, he interrupted the Elf, “You have nothing for which to be sorry.”

“Estel, please,” the Elf begged, holding his hand up to hush the Ranger. The human scowled at being quieted but did so anyway, though the Elf then fell silent himself.

The Ranger waited for the Prince to speak, speculating, _If he did not leave Mirkwood to escape his King’s wrath, then why would he risk losing this chance for recovery with his father?_ Much as Legolas had just realized, Estel could indeed fathom the answer to this question, even if the Prince was not answering it. It was hope, however, and not conceit that made him think, _Greenleaf came to Imladris for me._

His heart raced with the agreeable notion, but now that the Prince was healthier and becoming more so every day, Aragorn was uncertain whether the laegel wanted to continue their newly formed bond, and so he did not press the issue because he did not want to endure the disillusionment of having his second chance with Legolas denied already. Much as the Silvan feared, the Ranger had his own doubts about the Elf’s feelings for him, and was terrified that without the need for comfort from the Adan, Legolas would not desire Estel’s company at all.

The Silvan shifted so that his back sat fully against the trunk once again, his face bowed away from the man next to him. “For many years I have lived without truly feeling the joy of doing so, Aragorn. All my memories have been overshadowed by my Naneth’s death, for before her, I remember little save for what a child can recall, and afterward, my father was never again the same.”

“Only when I am here, in Imladris with you, the twins, and Minyatar have I felt safe and loved,” the Elf said, sliding his hand across the man’s arm to find Aragorn’s hand to twist his fingers with the Ranger’s rough digits. “Perhaps this madness might not have happened had I not been attacked. Or perhaps it has been a long time in its fruition, waiting in dormancy until the conditions were right for its usurpation.”

Falling silent again, the Elf rubbed his fingers into the calluses on the human’s hands in absent motions. Aragorn was only happy that the Elf did not refrain from touching him as he had earlier that morning and as he had done several times before in the last months, and so did not prompt the laegel to continue, nor did he speak at all. The whole way in walking from Elrond’s study to the field, Aragorn had been beset by suspicions of Legolas’ reasons for wanting to speak with the Ranger, and he found that he wanted desperately to hear what the Elf intended to say just as much as he wished not to hear it.

After a few moments of nothing but the soft susurrus of the wind through the leaves above, Legolas began again. “The merchants took me by surprise the first time, and the second time, also, though it was my grief over their first attack that weakened by senses and thus allowed them to come so close to us without my knowing. The first time I found no pleasure in their sport, while the second time only by poison did I enjoy their torment.”

The Elf looked down. Aragorn fought the urge to draw the Elf’s face upwards, to incite the Prince to look at him, but Legolas was already continuing, saying, “After this, I am not sure why I found enjoyment in the pain that Mithfindl and Kane inflicted upon me, but I believed that I deserved their treatment. If the scar is of my own mind’s creation, then how it is silenced must be of my own making, as well.”

Giving no explanation for this conclusion, Legolas disentangled his fingers from Aragorn’s hand and instead began to massage again the marred flesh of his thigh. Estel watched this closely for any sign that the Prince might mishandle his wounded leg. Already the human feared that the Wood-Elf might never recover fully from this injury, though he had yet to speak to his foster father of it and so did not know whether it would heal or not; therefore, Estel blatantly watched the Silvan’s actions, for he would not allow the laegel to injure his thigh further lest he be maimed permanently.

“I consented to Kane,” the Prince explained, his color seeming to pale at the sheer memory of the merchant’s lust, “although I did not desire him. I would have let Mithfindl have his way with me but did not desire him either. I have only wanted to be well, Estel,” the Silvan Prince pled, his quiet explanation becoming urgent. “But I have betrayed you, Estel. No illness or despair can excuse my actions.”

Aragorn could do nothing but stare at the laegel. _Does he think that this bothers me?_

It did matter, of course, and it did bother the Ranger that the Prince had submitted to Kane and would have submitted to Mithfindl as well, but not because it meant that Legolas had betrayed him. Rather, these events were only important because of their effect on Greenleaf. He started to say this, but the Wood-Elf was already persevering in his locution.

“When first the scar spoke, it was by the stream, after we had lain together. It told me that you had sated the lust that watching my subjugation had sparked.” Closing his eyes, the Elf bowed his head evermore until the Ranger could see nothing but the topmost of the Elf’s golden hair. “I do not know that I agree with its estimation of you but it is difficult for me to reject its dissent, especially when we had never before lain together until after you were witness to my deprivation.”

The Ranger had not known this. The bile rose in his throat at the reminder of his part in the Prince’s continued affliction, for if he had shown more self-restraint that night by the brook, the Elf might not have endured the same hardship as he had been forced to endure. He might not now doubt whether Aragorn loved him or not, thinking that perhaps the human only lusted after him as had the men who had taken him against his will. Legolas was not comparing Aragorn to these men, but he did not need to – the Ranger compared himself to them. He found he had no good reason for his actions that night – or at least none that could not have waited until the Elf was well.

“I have doubted whether you desired me for reasons other than the vile insinuation that the scar tells me, that you desired me because of watching my torment.” The Prince sighed hoarsely, the tears he had shed that morning at the breakfast table on the verge of resuming. In all the years that Estel had known the laegel, he had never seen the Prince weep as openly or often as he had these past few months. “If the scar is my making, then its opinions are mine, as well. It is the voice of my own doubts, fears, and worries. It may have taken the same judgment as my Ada, but only because I have engendered his opinion of me.”

What the Elf told him was no surprise to Aragorn. He and the twins had spoken of this many times while in Imladris. They had told the Ranger what Legolas had told the twins, what they understood of the scar for themselves. Thus, from the Prince’s odd explanation, the human drew this conclusion. _Then this is why he has avoided my touch. He thinks he can face its recriminations alone._ From the laegel’s admission at breakfast, the Adan had deduced that the Prince’s trials with his grief and self-doubts were not yet complete, but listening to Legolas now, it was obvious that the Wood-Elf suffered so deeply from his doubts that he was not even certain of the Ranger’s friendship – much less his love.

“I wish to be well again, as I was before.” The Elf stopped himself to frown at where his hands were now folded in his lap. “No, not as before, but better than even that!”

“You _will_ be better, Greenleaf,” he inserted, earning himself a skeptical glance from the Elf.

If anything, his assurance had only made the Wood-Elf more nervous, for he fidgeted where he sat, something that the normally imperturbable and stalwart warrior did not usually do. “The means I have taken to cure this madness have only worked to ensure its continuance,” the Elf eluded, his mannerisms saying more than his words, as his agitation grew. “I am confused. I do not know what actions are mine or what actions I have taken merely because of the scar. I do not know what thoughts are untainted by the scar’s influence. I am certain of nothing.”

Even though he had said the scar was a product of his loathing and poor opinions of himself, the Elf still spoke of it as if it were separate. _He is probably not sure of this, either,_ the Ranger thought. The notion mystified the human, too, as he had often found himself thinking of the Wood-Elf’s grief as a separate entity inhabiting the marred flesh of the laegel’s thigh.

“And I have feared resuming the same path, Estel. I have feared to begin silencing the scar with pain or using another to silence it instead,” the Prince added, giving the Ranger a beseeching stare, petitioning the man to comprehend his meaning without having to say it.

Aragorn understood, yes, for he felt the same for much the same reasons.

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He needed Aragorn’s forgiveness, whether the Ranger thought his actions pardonable or not. Legolas needed to hear it, to know it.

However, the human did not offer his absolution, but as Elrond had anticipated, offered his own apologies instead. “Then I must ask your forgiveness, as well. It was not my place. I should not have forced you,” the human spoke vaguely, though it was clear of what incident he referred to without his saying. “I have treated you no better than the merchants. I left you to fend for yourself. I am sorry.”

It had been hard for the Ranger to depart from his lover, especially when leaving the Elf with his deranged father and the threat of despair snuffing out the Silvan’s faer. Leaving the Prince weltering in his hopelessness after throwing Legolas into his miring grief – a condition that while not caused by Aragorn had been evoked by the Ranger – must have been difficult for the man, indeed. Despite the anguish that it had caused Estel, Legolas could not help but be pleased that the human felt regretful for leaving him alone and despairing in Mirkwood. He had not been upset then that the Ranger had forced him into facing his grief, nor was he upset now, but it soothed his doubts about Aragorn’s intentions to know that the man had acted purely out of love and worry.

“If you had not forced me to choose, I would have faded,” the Wood-Elf claimed and knew it to be true. “Perhaps you should not have forced me, but I would not have chosen to face my grief by myself. I know why you did it; I thank you for it, Estel.”

The human slipped his hand into the Elf’s lap, grabbing one of the Silvan’s limbs by its fingers. He let their knotted hands rest on the Prince’s uninjured thigh, and then told Legolas, “The twins were incensed with me. They worried that I had ensured your death, not your survival, and though I believed otherwise, still I have spent this time waiting for some word of your welfare, Greenleaf, hoping that you would chose to live rather than to die. I have been selfish.”

“They will not hold it against you now, for they can see for themselves what good your actions have accomplished!” He had certainly never wanted to come between the human and his twin brothers – this he had established shortly after thinking that the twins were mad at him for seducing their Adan brother by the brook. Bouncing their entwined hands upon his leg for emphasis, Legolas told the man, “And I am here now. I have chosen to live because of you.”

The Ranger smiled sadly, as he asked, “For yourself? You have chosen to live for yourself?”

The Wood-Elf nodded; the placated Ranger persisted in his apologies, “I am sorry that I complicated your relationship with your father by slaying Kane. I cannot regret killing that vile animal,” the human said, his face set in sudden, hard lines of fury when thinking of the man, “but it was not my place to do so in your father’s house. If I had not, I could have stayed with you in the Forest, or perhaps you could have left with us.”

The Prince had always held dear to the idea that there was a greater design for his actions, that Eru had not left his creation to waste itself away without purpose. Therefore, what had happened to him had occurred for a reason, and while he doubted he would ever discern why, his belief was enough. Legolas told the Ranger as much, saying, “I do not regret the merchant’s death, either, meleth nin. But if you had not killed Kane, and had you not left, then I would not have stood fast against Ada’s condemnation and wrath. I would likely not have confronted my grief, either, Estel. Perhaps all has happened as it should.”

“If it were not for me, you would not have suffered as you have.” The man looked away in shame. “You are right,” the human told him, evincing to Legolas that the Adan had understood his earlier, pathetic attempts to tell the Ranger of his effect upon the Elf’s recovery. “I have distracted you from healing from your grief and sorrow – I have only made your burden more cumbersome because I could not control my lust. But do not doubt that my desire for you comes from love, Greenleaf,” the Ranger importuned with a desperate desire for the laegel to believe him. “Watching those merchants force themselves upon you did not bring me pleasure, but disgust. And not repugnance for you but for what was done to you,” the human was quick to declare. “I let my lust for you control my actions that night on the stream’s bank. I cannot regret that night because without it, I do not know if I would ever have admitted how much I love you. But it came too soon for you, for us, and for this, I am sorry,” the human told the Elf, the bright light of Anor glinting off the perspiration gathering on Estel’s face from where the calidity of the late morning sun cascaded down upon them between the limbs of the old oak tree.

Estel went on to say, “Even the morning after we arrived in Imladris, I should have abstained from comforting you in such a way.” The Ranger looked off into the distance to the Noldor practicing their swordplay in the far field. “I did not think of it at the time, Greenleaf, but while I was in your father’s dungeons, Elladan told me that the scar’s influence might not only have swayed you into accepting the merchant’s lust but into accepting mine, also. I have worried since the first time we lay together by the brook that I have done you more harm than good. And I have worried that you allowed me to touch you, to love you, only because it brought you some comfort from the scar,” the Ranger explicated, his lean face appearing old and haggard as if the angst of this possibility was too much for him.

The Elf inhaled sharply. He crawled to his knees and then inserted himself between the human’s bent legs so that he could face the Ranger directly. Sitting down upon his heels, Legolas shook his head, leant forward until their faces were nearly touching, and told the man, “That is not the case, Estel.” He advised Aragorn, wanting the human to know the truth of the matter, “The scar played some part in it, I will admit. Had not I been emotionally numbed from avoiding my grief, I believe I might have been too frightened to do what we had done that night by the brook – or the morning that my father’s missive arrived from Eryn Galen. Had not your touch relieved my corporeal numbness, I would not have felt the pleasure your touch brought, and thus would not have desired it.”

When the Ranger looked down, abject disappointment painting his features, the Elf threw himself forward to embrace the human while he quickly explained, “It is true that you have brought me comfort from the scar, Estel, and I have used your love for this end when I should not have. But that is not what has caused my desire for you, nor what has kept me returning to you.”

“No, Greenleaf!” the man exclaimed, pushing the Prince back gently so that Elf and human were face to face once more. “I desired you just as much if not more than you desired me. You wanted comfort from me, which was and is understandable, and I have been pleased to give it to you! You make it sound as if you have taken advantage of me!”

It became clear to Legolas in that moment of their mutually exculpatory argument that this misunderstanding between he and the Ranger was not permanent, nor was it enough to maintain the rift that kept them apart – that is, should the Silvan ever become well enough to allow again the joining of their bodies.

There was once more hope for the Prince. He could see the same understanding lighting the Ranger’s face and knew that his Minyatar had been right; that is, that the human loved him, had missed him, and would forgive him without question. Spontaneously, the Prince bent forward, purloining the man’s next words by stealing the human’s breath as he caught the Ranger’s lips with his own. Like some postprandial treat, as sweet as Elrond’s miruvor or any sugared dessert they might find in the Imladrian kitchens, Legolas treasured the taste of the human’s full lips leisurely, his own lips and tongue skimming across Aragorn’s lips, seeking a brief entrance within the man’s soft, moist mouth. The Ranger’s ignescent presence began a fire of longing within the Prince – a longing that had remained unsatisfied during their time apart.

With regret, the Elf pulled away. “I told my father that if I stayed in Eryn Galen, I would not survive without you.” He placed his cheek against the human’s, finally answering Aragorn’s question from the start of their conversation as to why the Elf had left his father when the King had been trying to be a good Ada. “I came to Imladris to be with you, Estel, but I cannot be with you now. If we are to be together at all, then I must be well.”

“I know,” the Ranger sighed. He wrapped his arms more tightly around the Elf, causing Legolas to recline against the man, laying his head upon the Adan’s shoulder. Speaking candidly, the Ranger told the Wood-Elf, “I must know that it is _you_ who desires me, Legolas, and not the scar. I would know that you chose me for reasons other than comfort. And I would have you know that I desire you for reasons more important than mere pleasure.”

The Silvan had to agree. He needed to be certain that nothing stood between him and the Adan. “As would I, which is why I have been uncertain whether to accept your touch since arriving in Imladris. I have not known whether I would be hindering my efforts to be well or not, but Minyatar has counseled me otherwise.”

“How is that?” the man asked, his hands stroking through the Elf’s long hair from its start at the Silvan’s sensitive scalp to its very ends, thus pulling it free from its braid.

“I have been afraid to have you near, even though I have craved your presence – and not merely to quiet the scar,” the Elf murmured into the human’s tunic under his cheek. “Minyatar has told me that perhaps I am wrong in avoiding this.”

He sat against the man, curled into the human’s chest, letting Aragorn caress his back and shoulders. The Ranger’s very touch – the subject of their discussion – had soothed the laegel’s self-loathing until the Elf should have felt at peace. However, his doubts spewed forth from his mind to cross his lips before he could stifle them. “I am not so sure that he is right,” the Silvan said, his qualms about the Ranger’s love for him making him sit up once again so that he could watch the man, for he was unable to keep himself from asserting his need to hear this from the Adan. “If you do not love me, then why else would the scar quiet?”

Misconstruing the meaning behind the Elf’s question, the Ranger’s eyes narrowed, his mouth set into a thin line, and his muscles tensed in anger. The human took a deep breath and told the laegel, “I begin to believe that all think me to be a liar. My father doubts my love for you?”

It was the Wood-Elf who had doubted this, not Elrond, although it had not been the point of his question anyway. Yet, after seeing the human’s irritation, he was not eager to clarify this, though he did so regardless of whether it might further upset the man, saying, “That is not what I meant. Minyatar said that I seek to shun your touch and thus the voice’s quietude _because_ of the scar, because I feel that I do not deserve your love… or any love, for that matter.” He explained in quiet shame, “No, Estel, it is _I_ who am not sure of your intentions.”

Aragorn looked aghast at the Wood-Elf while placing a hand on each of the Silvan’s shoulders. “Why do you doubt me, Greenleaf?”

The reason behind his doubt, he could claim, was the disfigurement scored upon his thigh. But as he had just finished telling the man that the scar was his own doubts, he had no reasons to give Aragorn concerning this other than his belief in his own worthlessness. So instead, he told the Ranger, “I cannot ask you to wait for me to be well.” Settling his head comfortably once again against the human’s chest, Legolas entreated, “I may never be well. What then?”

He did not let the man answer, but said, “I am sorry that I am daft, that my mind is not sound. You deserve a better friend, a better lover than one who hears voices and cannot keep from hurting himself! You merit someone healthy and sane. Someone whose body and mind are not tainted.”

“Legolas,” the man chastised, “do not speak of yourself like this, please. It is not true.”

The Elf would have preferred to trust Estel’s assurance, to truly believe that he were rational, that he was worth the human’s love and affection, but this part of him was not healed, and so he stewed in his thoughts until the acerbic content of his mind once more spilled out into conversation. “I am not the same Elf with whom you fell in love, Estel. Why do you love me even when I am fey with grief?”

“You are not the same as before,” the healer divulged with a sigh, “but you are still Legolas. No one remains static through his life, believing the same as he always has, acting in the same ways as before. Things happen that change us all. Sometimes these changes are subtle; sometimes they are abrupt.”

The Prince remained silent, which prompted Aragorn to continue, “You told me that you loved me, not in spite of my being human but because of it.” The Ranger explicated, “I love you, as well – not in spite of this illness you suffer from, but because of it, because this illness is as much you as the stars and moon are a part of the night, or the leaves are part of the trees,” he ended, using the same analogy that the Elf had on the mountainside those many weeks ago. “And when this illness passes – and I am certain that it will, my love – you will still be Legolas and I will still love you.”

“You sound as wise as Minyatar, Estel,” the Wood-Elf teased, but his demeanor was serious when he asked, “And your love for me? Will it change as we do?”

“That will not change unless it is possible for me to love you even more,” the Ranger spoke quietly. “I know that we cannot be together now, but I will wait the rest of my days for you to be ready. And even then, if you are not, I will not care, but be glad to have spent those days with you – if only you will allow me this.”

Legolas twisted his head against the human’s chest, burrowing against the Ranger’s beating heart as if aspiring to bury himself within it. The last of his will to resist Aragorn’s touch, his comfort and love, fled him with the human’s devoted pledge. “I do not _allow_ it; I demand it,” the Wood-Elf said, but then corrected his words with, “I will make it so by royal decree!”

At first, the human only snorted at the Elf’s cheerful declaration, but then he laughed outright, his chest shaking the laegel who lay upon it. “Sweet Eru, Greenleaf! How I have missed you!” the human whispered fiercely into the Elf’s ear, kissing its tip before laying his head upon the Elf’s golden one. “I am not letting you out of my sight again!”

His soul was laid bare before the human who had done the same for him, and their faer, though not bound in the manner of the Elves, were connected nonetheless.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On his less bruised side, Legolas stretched himself out along the Ranger, laying his back against the man’s front while sitting between the human’s legs. Casually, the Elf laid his head upon the man’s belly and looked up to Estel, giving the Ranger an affectionate smile.

 _He is still exhausted,_ the Adan thought to himself, watching the fair Elf as he rested, the Prince’s lids slipping over his cerulean orbs to hide them more with each heavier exhale that the Silvan gave. Legolas’ relaxed state increased as Aragorn combed his fingertips through the soft hair at the Elf’s temples lackadaisically, his fingers lingering lightly against the contused skin.

Eventually, the Prince fell into reverie.

He refrained from moving his legs or even breathing too deeply so that he would not shift and thus disturb the sleeping laegel. Not when his muscles began to ache, not when the sun heated his human body into sweating profusely as the shade offered by the oak dwindled with the changing angle of Anor’s light, and not even when his rear fell asleep from sitting upon the hard ground for too long did Estel deign to move. Lying there with his guileless cobalt eyes half closed, his lips parted to allow in the soft inhalations of one at ease, and his body and visage halcyon with the simplicity of sleep, Legolas appeared as innocent as a newborn Elfling.

_I only hope that he truly feels as blameless as he looks._

The Elf was hardly an innocent – and not because of the tragedies he had endured. No, the Prince was an immortal, his life already long and full with memories and strife, and likely to be filled with much more.

It would take more than time to remake the Elf’s confidence, to see that Legolas was truly well – to close the final chapter of this trying time, to erase in full the painful memoir written upon the Elf’s thigh and scarred upon his faer. Until then, Aragorn would only be joyous to be in the Prince’s presence and to be his friend, since for now he could not be the Wood-Elf’s lover. His Greenleaf had returned to him – the Ranger had been granted a second chance.


End file.
